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Old Days in Dixie 

A Comedy-Drama in Three Acts 



By 
WALTER BEN HARE 

Author of over one hundred p'lays, including : 

'The Boy Scouts," "The Ca})tp Fire Girls," ''A Couple of 

Million," "The Dutch Detective," "The Hoodoo," "The 

Heiress Hunters, " " Isosceles, ' ' ' 'Much Ado About Betty, 

"A Pageant of History," "Professor Pepp," "Teddy, 

or, the Runaways," " The Adventures of Gratidp a," 

"Grandma Gibbs of the Red Cross," "The Seoul 

Master," "Twelve Old Maids," "Over Here," 

"The Beantown Choir," "On a Slow Train 

in Mizzoury," etc. 



The professional stage rights in this play are'reserved by the 
author, and all persons wishing to produce it publicly and for 
profit should apply for permissioa to the author in care of the 
publishers. For amateur performances a royalty of ^lo.oo for 
the first and $5.00 each for succeeding performances is required. 
This is payable to the publishers at any time before the perform- 
ance. 




BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
1920 



old Days in Dixie 



CHARACTERS PORTRAYED 

The Prologue, the Goddess of the South. 

Madame Bonfoey, mistress of the plantation. 

Azalea, her ward. 

Nancy, Azalea's sister. 

Cousin Sallie Sellers, /n7;« a neighboring estate. 

Phcebe, a little coquette. 

Mary Rose, Phcebe s sister. 

Mam' Dicey, the house maintiiy. 

Beverly Bonfoey, the young heir. 

Judge Pennymint, his tmcle. 

Raoul Chaudet, a visitor from Quebec. 

Cameo Clemm,/;y7w the city. 

Unker Shad, a bit of old mahogany. 

Beaux and Belles of Dixie. 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 

Act I. The drawing-room of the Bonfoey Plantation in 1849. 
The letter. 

Act II. The dinner party. The duel. 

Act III. An April morning, three years later. The return. 

Note. — The curtain will fall for a few moments during the 
action of the second act to indicate a lapse of five hours. 

" A beautiful, true-to-life picture of ante-bellum days in 
Dixie ; a story of a faith that never wavered, a hope that was 
delayed, and a love that kindled the faith and liope into the 
flame of happiness."— Lucy Longstreet Madden. 




Copyright, 1920, by Walter Ben Hare 

Free for amateur performance. Professional stage 
and moving picture rights reserved. 

©CI.0 5573:J 

OCT -9 1920 






COSTUMES 



Goddess. — White Grecian robe draped with a Confederate flag. 

Ladies. — Costumes of the period of 1849-53. Hoop skirts, lace 
shoulder shawls, etc. See illustrated books and magazines of the 
period. 

Gentlemen. — Light trousers, fancy vests, ruffled shirts, dress 
coats, high white collars and black stocks. Tall beaver hats. See 
illustrations in " Harper's Magazine " for 1889. 



TAKE NOTICE 

The acting rights of this play are owned and reserved by 
the author. Performance is strictly forbidden unless his con- 
sent, or that of his agent, has first been obtained, and attention 
is called to the penalties provided by law for any infringements 
of his rights, as follows : 



Sac. 28. That any person who wilfully and for profit shall infringe any 
Copyright secured by this Act, or who shall knowingly and wilfully aid 
or abet such infringement, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and 
upon conviction thereof shall be punished by imprisonment for not ex- 
ceeding one year or by a fine of not less than one hundred dollars, or both, 
at the discretion of the court. 

Sec. 19. That any person who, with fraudulent intent, shall insert or 
impress any notice of Copyright required by this Act, or words of the 
lame purport, in or upon any uncopyrighted article, or with fraudulent in- 
tent shall remove or alter the copyright notice upon any article duly copy- 
righted shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, punishable by a fine of not lest 
than one hundred dollars and not more than one thousand dollars. 



Old Days in Dixie 



THE FIRST ACT 

SCENE. — A drawing-room in Mistress Bonfoey's 
house on a southern country estate. A richly furnished 
room with southern ante-bellum characteristics. Dark 
interior setting, boxed, with a large arched entrance at 
the rear c, open to a front hall. At the rear of the 
hall at the r. a staircase is visible leading up and off 
R. 3 E. A hall-tree of the period stands at rear l., 
visible to the audience through the c. e. A tall clock 
stands at the foot of the staircase. The stage proper 
is dressed to simidate an old-fashioned drazving-room. 
A large French or bay zvindozv appears in the l. wall; 
this zvindow is open and palms are seen through it. A 
door appears in the r. wall near the audience; this is 
designated as R. i E. An elaborate fireplace appears 
between the R. i e. and the right upper corner of the 
room. Dark red carpet covers the floor and fur rugs 
appear here and there. In front of the zvindozv is a 
long, lozv couch, zvith tabourettes or pedestals at either 
end on which are potted palms. An old-fashioned 
piano appears at rear to l. of c. e. (This may often 
be borrowed from a music store.) A round table is 
dozmi L. and three elaborate chairs are around it. A 
large easy chair faces the fireplace. A desk and small 
chair appear at the rear to the r. of the c. e. Easy 
chair and footstool dowm r., zvith small table near by. 
Old-fashioned pictures are on the zvalls, preferably 
Colonial portraits. " Tidies " adorn the chairs, old- 
fashioned ornaments appear everyzvhere. The fire- 
place is filled zvith asparagus fern and bozvls of roses 

5 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

• 

are on the mantelshelf and tables. Candelabra, with 
unlighted candles, dress the table, the piano and the 
mantel-shelf. Dark tapestry curtains are draped over 
doors and windows. 

PROLOGUE 

{Before the curtain rises on the Prologue a male 
quartet is heard behind the scenes singing the chorus 
of " Carry Me Back to Old Virginny " ; they sing 
the chorus loudly and then repeat it softly, the cur- 
tain rising slowly on the last three lines of the song. 
The stage is in darkness but a calcium light shines 
on the c. e. where the Goddess is posed on a small 
pedestal. Note: All stage and house lights must be 
off and only the brilliant white calcium or spot il- 
luminating the c. E. The orchestra plays " Carry 
Me Back to Old Virginny " softly as the Goddess re- 
cites:) 

OH, THE SWEET SOUTH ! 
{By William Gilmore Simms) 

Oh, the sweet South ! the sunny, sunny South ! 

Land of true feeling, land forever mine ! 
I drink the kisses of her rosy mouth, 

And my heart swells as with a draft of wine. 
Oh ! by her lonely pines, that wave and sigh — 

Oh ! by her myriad flowers, that bloom and fade — 
By all the thousand beauties of her sky, 

And the sweet solace of her forest shade, 
She's mine — she's ever mine ! 

Oh, love is hers — such love as ever glows 

In souls where leaps affection's living tide ; 
She is all fondness to her friends — to foes 

She glows a thing of passion, strength and pride : 
She fears no tremors when the danger's nigh, 

But the fight over and the victory won, 
How, with strange fondness, turns her loving eye. 

In tearful welcome on each gallant son ! 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 7 

{The orchestra music ends and a quartet is heard off 
L., singing the chorus of " Old Folks at Home." 
The Goddess inclines to l., listening as they sing:) 

All this world is sad and dreary, 

Everywhere I roam, 
Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary 

Far from the old folks at home. 

The Goddess (recites) : 

Oh ! by her virtues of the cherished past — 

By all her hopes of what the future brings — 
I glory that my lot with her is cast. 

And my soul flushes and exultant sings : 
Oh, the sweet South ! the sunny, sunny South ! 

She's mine — she's ever mine ! 

{The curtain slowly falls.) 



THE FIRST ACT 

{As soon as the curtain is well down on the prologue 
the orchestra plays the old plantation song " King- 
dom Coming," see page 7^. Play the selection ttvice. 
The curtain rises again disclosing the same setting, 
without the pedestal. Yellow footlights, heads and 
borders are now on full. The spot light shines 
through the window at l. Judge Pennymint is 
seated down r. c. reading a newspaper. The or- 
chestra continues playing " Kingdom Coming " until 
the curtain is well up. Enter from rear l. Unker 
Shad. He stands in c. e.) 

Shad. Marse Jedge ! 
Judge. Yes ? 

Shad. Dere's a gentleman out on de gallery come to 
see Manse Chaudet. 

Judge. Well, why don't you show him in here ? 
Shad. I thought I'd speak to some ob you-all about 



8 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

it first. You see he ain' a quality gentleman, he's jes' a 
white gentleman. 

Judge. Bring him in and I'll see if I can find Mr. 
Chaudet. 

Shad. But, Marse Jedge, you want me to bring him 
in yeref 

Judge. Certainly, why not ? 

Shad. Kase, kase It's Marse Clemm, sah. 

Judge. Clemm? What Clemm? 

Shad, De one dey calls Cameo Clemm. 

Judge (rises). Cameo Clemm, here! In this house! 

Shad. Yassir. I wasn't quite sure what I'd better do. 

Judge. Are the ladies about. Shad? 

Shad. I don' reckon so, sah. Miss 'Zalie's in de 
garden and Madame and Miss Nancy's up-stairs in de 
sewing-room, sah. 

Judge. Very well. Show Mr. Clemm in here. 

Shad. Marse Chaudet's out in de garden wif Miss 
'Zalie. Down by d' lily pond. 

Judge. I'll find him. It's all right. Shad. I'll keep 
the ladies out. [Exit R. i e. 

Shad (shaking his head doubtfully). Um, uum ! I 
dunno how come a man like Cameo Clemm's got de 
gumption comin' yere. Ain' no blacklegs or gamblers 
on dis plantation. Mighty peculiar, mighty peculiar. 
(Exit at rear l. A slight pause, then enter Shad from 
rear l. showing in Cameo Clemm.) Jes' kindly take a 
seat, sah. De Jedge has gone to fetch Marse Chaudet. 

Clemm (comes down c., looking around). Much 
obliged. Fine old place here. First time I've ever been 
inside of Bonfoey. 

Shad. Yassir. Jes' kindly take a seat, sah. 

Clemm (sits l. c). Did you give the Judge my name? 

Shad. Yassir, I gave him your name, sah. 

Clemm. Kind o' surprised him, didn't it? Cameo 
Clemm a-callin' at Bonfoey? 

Shad. Yassir, w-w-we's all a little surprised, sah. 

Clemm. Sporting gentlemen like me ain't frequent 
visitors here, I reckon. 

Shad. No, sah, dey ain't. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 9 

Clemm. And yet I frecjuently entertain your young 
men at my rooms. This man Chaudet now, is he an old 
friend of the family ? 

Shad. 'Deed and I couldn't say, sah. 

Clemm (holds up a silver dollar). Not even for this? 

Shad. No, sah. Not even for dat. 

Clemm. This is his first visit to the south, I know 
that. He's from Quebec. 

Shad. Yassir, dat's what I hears. 

Clemm. Where did Beverly meet him? 

Shad. Met him up at college, sah. Yassir, met him 
at college. 

Clemm. Oh, that's it, is it? A college acquaintance. 
He's not much like Beverly, is he? Beverly never visits 
me at my rooms. 

Shad. No, sah, I don' reckon he do. 

Clemm (sneers). The young heir is too high and 
mighty to have anything to do with Cameo Clemm. 

Shad. Yassir, he shore is high and mighty, sah. He 
shore is. All us Bonfoeys is. 

Clemm. I reckon you think your master ought to be 
set up on a pedestal and worshipped. 

Shad. I dunno nothin' 'bout no pedestal, sah, but 
everybody on de estate worships Marse Beverly. You 
see he's (hesitates for word) he's — well, sah, he's our 
own Marse Beverly. 

Clemm. He ain't here now, is he? 

Shad. No, sah. He's down at d' quarters. My 
grandson Israel got hurt right bad yesterday at d' cotton 
press. Marse Beverly stayed up all night with him, sah. 
Never slep' a wink tendin' my boy an' he's been with 
him all day. Dat's how come we all worships Marse 
Beverly, sah. Dere ain' no other man in de whole com- 
monwealth dat 'ud do for us like he does. 

Clemm (tosses dollar to Shad). Well, I reckon you've 
earned your dollar. 

Shad, Thank you, sah. 

Enter Raoul Chaudft from r. i e. Clemm rises. 
Shad exits rear l. 



10 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Chaudet. You shouldn't have come here, Clemm. 

Clemm. Oh, I reckon I ain't contaminated the sanc- 
tity of Bonfoey Hall by my presence, and when it comes 
down to brass tacks, Chaudet, I'm just as much a gentle- 
man as you are. 

Chaudet. We won't quarrel. What can I do for 
you? 

Clemm {takes out wallet). You gimme your note 
night before last for eight hundred dollars. I came over 
to-day to get the money instead. 

Chaudet. The note will be paid by the bank. 

Clemm. Not much it won't. It came back to me 
marked " no funds." 

Chaudet. I must have overdrawn my account. 

Clemm {drily). Very likely. 

Chaudet. I intend to make a deposit to-morrow. 

Clemm. Very likely. 

Chaudet. You don't think I intend to defraud you, 
do you ? 

Clemm. No, I don't, 'cause I ain't goin' to 'low you 
to. 

Chaudet. I haven't that much money about me at 
present. 

Clemm. No? 

Chaudet. But of course I'll make the note good. 

Clemm. Of course. 

Chaudet. You'd better go now. 

Clemm. I'll go when you make the note good. 

Chaudet. You mean? 

Clemm. I mean you got to get some responsible 
party to endorse the note. 

Chaudet. That's easily done. My friend Mr. Bon- 
foey 

Clemm. He ain't here. He's down at the quarters. 

Chaudet. Then Madame Bonfoey will be glad to 
come to the assistance of her guest. 

Clemm. See if she will. 

Chaltdet. Very well. Give me the note. 

Clemm. There it is. All it needs is her ladyship's 
signature on the back. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE II 

Chaudet. Suppose she is asleei). 

Clemm. Wake her up. 

Chaudet. If the note is not endorsed? 

Clemm. Then I'm afraid I'll have to turn it over to 
the sheriff. 

Chaudet. Oh, I was only joking, of course. 

Clemm. I never could get the point to a Canadian 
joke. 

Chaudet. I'll have Madame Bonfoey endorse the 
note. Wait here. [Exit r. i e. 

(There is a pause. Clemm walks aroitnd the room 
looking at pictures, bric-d-brac, etc. Shad enters 
from rear l. with mint julep on tray.) 

Shad {comes down to Clemm). I thought you might 
like a julep, sah. 

Clemm. Uncle, you're a mind reader. {Drinks it.) 
That touches the right spot. 

Shad. Yassir, I make it myself. 

Clemm. Just for that I'll give you a tip. 

Shad {puzzled). Gimme a tip? 

Clemm. Sure. If you've got any spare money you 
want to back Bay Demon next Saturday. 

Shad. Law, boss, I don' back no bosses. I'm a 
'stablished churchman, I am. 

Clemm. Well, it's a good tip, anyhow. Bay Demon, 
remember. 

Shad. Yassir, thank you, sah, 

[Exit rear l. with glass on tray. 

(Slight pause. Enter Chaudet from r. i e.) 

Chaudet. Easiest thing in the world. Madame was 
glad to assist me. 

Clemm {looks at endorsement). All right, son. I got 
to mosey along now. Much obliged for all your trouble. 

Chaudet. Oh, no trouble at all, I assure you. (They 
walk to c. E.) Shad, show the gentleman out, will you? 

Shad (off stage at rear l.). Yassir. 

(Clemm bows ceremoniously to Chaudet and exits at 
rear l. Judge enters r. i e.) 



12 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Judge. Your visitor gone? 

Chaudet. Yes, he just left. I hope you don't mind 
his coming here. 

Judge. This is not my house, sir. 

Ckaudet. It was merely a httle matter of business. 

Judge. So I judged. 

Chaudet. Is 'ZaUe still by the lily pond. Judge? 

Judge (pointedly). Miss Azalea is in the garden, sir. 

Chaudet. Thank you. I'll find her. 

(Exits at rear l., after bowing to Judge.) 

Judge (after slight pause). Conceited young puppy! 
(Sits L. c.) If I had my way I'd ship him back to the 
wilds of Quebec where he belongs. 

(Nancy is heard singing off stage, upstairs at rear R. 
She is singing "Kingdom Coming." She shortly 
appears coming down the stairs at rear r., or if stairs 
are not used she enters and stands at c. e. singing 
first stanza and chorus of " Kingdom Coming," see 
page 14. At close comes down l. c.) 

Nancy {with a deep curtsey to the Judge who rises and 
hows). How do you like my song, most potent, grave and 
reverend signor? 

Judge. Delightful, Nancy. It reminded me of your 
dear mother. She used to sing that very song when we 
attended singing-school in the city. 

Nancy. La, you have a wonderful memory, Judge. 

Judge. Memory is the boutonniere that middle age al- 
ways wears in his buttonhole. 

Nancy. Middle age, indeed? You're every hour as 
young as I am. 

Judge. Sweet sixteen? 

Nancy. Well, er — maybe a year or two older. 

Judge. Sweet flatterer. 

Nancy. Gallant chevalier! (Curtsies.) And I love 
you for it. Our young men aren't like the city boys at 
all in that respect. City girls swim in flattery, but here 
there isn't enough to wet the soles of one's boots. 

Judge. My dear, flattery is the tinsel of society, while 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE I3 

gallantry is the golden \\ar[) iliat makes the whole fabric 
shine with beauty. 

Nancy. I don't know just what )ou mean but it 
sounds right pretty. 

JuDGK. There is a wide margin between flattery and 
gallantry. 

Nancy. Mr. Chaudet says the most adorable things. 

Judge. Flattery is only another name for insincerity. 

Nancy (pouts). I don't care. I'd rather have a man 
insincere than stupid. 

JuDGi:. Well, I suppose that's the idea of the modern 
young woman. The maidens of 1820 were stamped from 
a different pattern. 

Nancy. Oh, we girls of 1849 live in a progressive age. 

Judge. What is the program of gayety for this even- 
ing, honey ? 

Nancy. An archery contest. (Runs to window and 
looks out.) It's time for the boys and girls now. 

Judge. I suppose the Carter girls are on their way? 

Nancy. Yes. Cousin Sallie's coming, too. (Judge 
gives a long sigh.) Don't look so woe-begone, Judge. 
Remember, faint heart never won fair lady. 

Judge. I reckon I'm too old to aspire to any lady, 
Nancy. 

Nancy. Fiddle-de-dee, it's never too late to mend, 
and it's never too late to get a fair lady to mend for you. 

Judge. The optimism of youth, my dear, the optimism 
of youth. 

(The voice of Phcebe Carter is heard outside at 
rear l.) 

Phcebe. Nan, Nan, where are you? 
Nancy. Oh, they're here. (Runs to c. e.) It's 
Phcebe and Mary Rose. (Calls.) In here. 
Judge. Is — is — er, is Miss Sallie with them? 

(Arranges collar and stock.) 

Enter Phcebe from rear l., followed by Mary Rose. 

Phcebe. Nancy! (Embraces her at c. e.) Are we 
early ? 



14 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Nancy. You are just in time. {Embraces Mary.) 
Mary {at c, e.). It takes sister Phoebe such a long 

time to make ready. 

Phcebe {at rear r.), I don't care. {Pertly.) I reckon 

I like to look pretty, and that takes a certain amount of 

preparation. Mary Rose is just naturally good looking, 

so she is always in a hurry. 

{The three girls come down stage arm-in-arm, Nancy 
in c.) 

Judge {standing down l.). Behold the three graces. 
Ladies, I salute you. 

{Bows very low with right hand over the heart.) 

Mary {nearest him, extends hand and curtsies to 
floor). Good-evening, Judge. 

Judge {kisses her hand). Miss Mary Rose, I'm yours 
eternally. 

Phcebe. I hope you're right well. 

Judge {crosses to her at r., while Nancy and Mary 
move down l.). Tolerable, Miss Phcebe, tolerable. 

{Kisses her hand as she curtsies.) 

Nancy {down l.). Oh, Mary Rose, your new frock is 
a dream. I saw that very pattern in Godey's. Let me 
see the back. 

Mary {revolving slowly). It's not very comfortable, 
but one has to be in the fashion. 

Judge {at c). Surely you-all didn't ride over by your- 
selves ? 

Phcebe. Oh, no. Cousin Sallie brought us over. 

(Mary nudges Nancy and they watch the Judge.) 

Judge {smiles). Ah! 

Phcebe. And I reckon Cousin Sallie is just about as 
capable an escort as a w^hole army. 

Judge. And — where is Miss Sallie? 

Phcebe. Oh, she rode Firefly and of course she had 
to take him to the stable herself. She wouldn't trust him 
with any one. 

Judge. If you-all'll excuse me I'll ascertain if I can 
be of any assistance to her. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE t^ 

Phcebe. Certainly, Judge. (Crosses with him to c. e.) 
Nancy. Remember what I said about faint heart and 
fair lady. 

Judge. I thank you, Nancy, but sometimes even the 
most courageous heart has little chance with the younger 
generation. (^^ c. e.) Ladies! (Bows low.) 

(The girls curtsey and the Judge exits at rear l.) 

Phcebe (coming down l. to the others). He calls 
Cousin Sallie the younger generation. La, she must be 
thirty, at least. 

Mary. Phoebe, it's not genteel to discuss Cousin 
Sallie's age. 

Phcebe. Oh, it's just between ourselves. Nancy, 
whom do you think we saw in the pergola ? 

Nancy. Azalea ? 

Phcebe. Yes, and — (speaking rapturously) him! 

Mary. He was talking with her, oh, so earnestly ! 

Phcebe. And he looked (rapturously) like a Knight 
of the Golden Fleece. 

Nancy (in tones of adoration). He was dressed in 
black. All in black. 

Phcebe. He looks lovely in black. 

Mary. Adorable ! 

(The three girls give a long sigh in unison and, arm-in' 
arm, cross to R. ) 

Phcebe. Girls, the Judge proposed to Cousin Sallie 
again last night. 

Mary. How do you know? 

Phcebe. I could tell by the way she acted this morn- 
ing. (Sits at R.) 

Nancy. Oh, how do they act? (Standing near her.) 

Phcebe. All dreamy and sentimental. I recognize 
the symptoms of a proposal, even if I am only seventeen. 

(Mary stands at l. c.) 

Nancy. Proposed again. That makes seven times. 

Mary. La, if a man should propose to me seven times, 
I'd just have to accept him, whether or no, he'd be so 
masterful. 



l6 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Phcebe. I wonder if Mr. Chaudet has ever proposed. 
Nancy. Azalea would never tell, if he did. 

(Crosses to window at l. ) 

Mary. 'Zalie sure is lucky. First it was Beverly 
Bonfoey and now it is (slight pause, then rapturously) 
him. 

Phcebe (correcting her). He! 

Mary. Well, he or him, when I'm thinking of him I 
can't keep my mind on grammar. 

Nancy. Do you reckon Beverly cares for her sure 
enough ? 

Mary. You never can tell, he's so quiet and reserved. 
He hasn't the dash and daring of Mr. Chaudet. 

Phcebe. I don't care, Beverly Bonfoey is one of the 
finest men on earth. 

Mary. I didn't say anything to the contrary, but of 
course he hasn't the esprit of a French Canadian. 

Nancy (looking out of the window). They're strolling 
by the lily pond. 

Phcebe (rises, as does Mary). Are they coming in? 

Nancy. No. She's pinning an azalea on his coat. 

Phcebe and Mary (start). An azalea? (Look at 
each other sorrowfidly ; slight pause; then speak sadly.) 
An azalea ! 

(They stand perfectly still a moment, and then moved 
by a common impulse run to the zuindow.) 

Mary (looking out). Do you reckon he's 

(Hesitates.) 

Nancy. What? 

Mary (in an excited audible whisper). Proposed to 
her? 

Nancy. Of course not. If he had she would be 
radiantly happy. She doesn't look radiant, does she ? 

Phcebe. I think she does. 

Mary. You're near-sighted, she doesn't at all. She 
just looks naturally happy. (Pause..) He hasn't de- 
clared himself. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE I'J 

(All give a long, audible sigh of relief. ) 

Nancy. They're coming in. 

Phcebe {coming to c). Oh, I'm so flustrated. He's 
to be my partner in the archery tournament this evening. 

Mary {follozving her). Four partner ? 

PncEBi-: (zvith closed lips). Um-uni. I told him that 
he was such a wonderful archer and that I couldn't even 
hit a barn door. To even up things I should be given the 
advantage of the best partner. So I asked him right out. 
Azalea can't monopolize him all the time. 

Nancy (at l. c). Of course not. 

Mary. Shall we stay and say howdy to 'em ? 

Phcebe. Certainly not. They're probably coming in 
for a tete-a-tete. Let's leave 'em in peace. 

Mary. I'd love to hear him make love. It would be 
heavenly. 

Nancy. We can't be eavesdroppers. 

(Goes to windozv.) 

Phcebe. That wouldn't be genteel. 

Mary. I reckon not, but it 'ud be awfully interesting. 

Nancy. How would you like it if you were in Azalea's 
place ? 

Mary. If I were in Azalea's place? (Gives a long 
sigh.) Oh, if I were in Azalea's place. 

Nancy. Shh ! They're on the balcony. 

Phcebe. I'd just like to hide somewhere and see him 
bow her into a seat. He does it like a young Greek god. 

Mary. Phoebe Carter, young Greek gods aren't 
genteel, and you know it. 

Phcebe. La, Miss Priscilla Prim, when did you come 
to town ? 

Nancy. Let's go down to the big gate and meet the 
boys and girls when they come. They should be here 
now. 

Mary. Where's Beverly? Isn't he going to welcome 
his own guests? 

Nancy. One of the servants was badly hurt at the 
press yesterday. Beverly's been with him ever since. 
Up all night. 



1 8 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Phcebe. Isn't that heroic ? 

Nancy. If Beverly Bonfoey would pay a little less 
attention to his servants and a little more attention to 
Azalea she wouldn't be out there pinning flowers on Mr. 
Chaudet's coat. 

Phcebe. No, you might be there in her stead. 

Mary. Any of us might. 

(All give a long sigh in unison as before.) 

Nancy. I'd die if he should marry 'Zalie and become 
my brother-in-law. That would be too dreadful. 
Phcebe. Listen, I heard a horn. 
Mary. Then the crowd is coming. Come on ! 

(They hurry out at r. i e.) 

Enter Chaudet from rear l., with Azalea clinging to 
his arm. 

Chaudet. You do not trust me. (Crosses down r.) 

Azalea (sits r.). Trust you, Raoul? I'd trust you 
with my life. 

Chaudet (hack of her chair). Then you will come 
with me? You'll be my very own? 

Azalea. I can't promise. I don't know what to do. 
I — I never eloped before in all my life. 

Chaudet. But it's with me, 'Zalie. I'll take care of 
you. 

Azalea. Let us go to Madame and tell her every 
thing. She is kindness personified. She has been like a 
mother to Nancy and me all these years. I — I can't run 
away like you want me to. (Looks at him pathetically.) 
I — I can't deceive her. You wouldn't want me to deceive 
Her. 

Chaudet. Madame Bonfoey will never consent to 
our marriage. We must go at once, to-night. 

Azalea. But you had planned to stay the month out 
anyway. 

Chaudet. I have been forced to change my plans. 
Business calls ine to New York. Business of the utmost 
importance. I must leave at once, to-night. The boy is 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE I9 

packing my things now. You'll come, 'Zalie, say you'll 
come with me. 

Azalea. Oh, 1 don't know how to answer you. 

CiiAUDET. Let your heart answer. 

Azalea. But to run away — Madame would never 
approve of that. It would break her heart. 

CiiAUDET. We must live our own lives. Madame 
Bonfoey lives in the past; she doesn't realize that it is 
1849 and a new age, a modern age, has superseded the old 
ideas. Nowadays marriages are made for love, not to 
gratify the whim of one's parents or guardians. 

Azalea. I know, I know. Still I feel sure it would 
be best to tell Madame everything. 

Chaudet. To that 1 cannot consent. Can't you trust 
me ? Won't you say you '11 come ? 

Azalea. I don't know zvhat to do. 

{Crosses to door at r. i e.) 

Chaudet {follozviug her). You say you care for me, 
then prove it and come with me to-night. The train 
leaves at nine. Meet me at the willow clump and I'll 
drive you to the station. Be there at eight-thirty. Tell 
me that you'll come? 'Zalie, give me your promise. 
(Sallie laughs outside at rear l.) Some one is coming. 
Promise me ! 

Azalea. I'll — I'll send you a message. 

Enter Cousin Sallie from rear l., followed by Judge. 

Sallie. Now, Judge, don't be sentimental. The 
weather is too warm for sentiment and you only make 
me laugh. (Sees the others doxvn r.) Oh, it's Mr. 
Chaudet and 'Zalie. {Lozu curtsey.) The boys and 
girls are down by the pond, Mr. Chaudet. They're wait- 
ing for you. It's almost time for the archery contest. 

Chaudet. I thank you. {To Azalea.) Shall we 
join them? 

Azalea. Pray excuse me, I must find Madame. 

Sallie. She's in the sewing-room. Just think, Mr. 
Chaudet, winter clothes for a hundred and eighteen serv- 
ants. 



20 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Azalea. Cousin Sallie, you'll pardon me, I know. 
Gentlemen ! ( Curtsies and exits at r. i e. ) 

Sallie. I believe you are to teach my cousin Phoebe 
how to hit the bull's eye. 

Chaudet. I am to have that honor. 

Sallie. If you win the prize I '11 dance with you at the 
club soiree. 

Chaudet. With such a goal in view, Miss Sallie, I 
cannot fail. {Bows to her and exits at rear l.) 

Sallie {seated down r.). Isn't he a darling? 

Judge {seated down l. c). Bah! 

Sallie. Don't say Bah to me, Ira Pennymint, just 
because you've taken a dislike to Mr. Chaudet. 

Judge. It's more than a dislike, it's an aversion. 

Sallie. At any rate you'll have to admit that he is a 
graceful dancer. 

Judge. I'll admit nothing, and even if he is, what on 
earth has dancing to do with the general deportment of 
the fellow? 

Sallie. Oh, Judge, you know the poet says that grace 
is a joy forever. 

Judge. Fiddlesticks ! I half believe that you would 
not object if this handsome Lothario made moon-eyes at 
yoii. 

Sallie. Decidedly not. A woman is never too old 
to object to a pastime like that. Object? {Laughs.) 
I'd glory in it. 

Judge {crosses to her). And yet when I 

Sallie. Now, please don't continue. It's too warm 
for a proposal this evening and your face always gets so 
red. 

Judge. Miss SalHe, I 

{Hesitates and then gives a long audible sigh.) 

Sallie. Sit down and you'll feel better. 

Judge. At least I've tried to show you the state of 
my feelings. Miss Sallie. You'll have to admit that I've 
concealed nothing from you. 

Sallie. True enough. I reckon seven proposals are 
enough to show any lady the state of any gentleman's 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 21 

feelings. You certainly haven't let concealment like a 
worm i' the bud feed on thy damask cheek. 

Judge. And }ou prefer single blessedness. 

Sallie. For the present, yes. 

Judge. Then there is nothing left for me to do, but 
abide by your decision. . 

Sallie. You should study the methods of Monsieur 
Chaudet, Judge. Take lessons in the gentle art of fas- 
cinating. 

Judge (stiffly). Monsieur Chaudet is not my idea of a 
master. 

Sallie. And yet he has won the favor of Azalea right 
before the very face of Beverly Bonfoey. 

Judge. You think Beverly cares for Azalea ? 

Sallie. Think ? I'm sure of it. 

Judge. And she prefers this Quebec popinjay? 

Sallie. It looks like it. Poor Beverly ! 

Judge. My nephew, Miss Sallie, is one of nature's 
noblemen ; he stands for everything that is honest and 
upright and good ; he loves truth and respects virtue ; is 
kind and tolerant to his inferiors ; chivalrous in all his 
dealings; a man who places honor above all things; a 
true Virginia gentleman. 

Sallie. I grant all that, he is indeed a paragon. But 
in a man a woman likes a little touch of the world, the 
flesh and the devil. 

JvDGE (shocked). Miss Sallie! 

Sallie. Oh, don't be shocked. Judge, I speak from 
experience. 

Judge. My nephew is worth a thousand men like 
Raoul Chaudet. 

Sallie. Then why is he not here paying court to 
Azalea ? She is young and romantic. Of course I favor 
his suit, but a woman doesn't fall in love with a saint no 
matter how honorable and chivalrous he is. I have 
known Beverly since he was a baby, and I love him and 
respect him, but he certainly has old-fashioned ideas. 

Judge. And you really think he is in love with 
Azalea ? 

Sallie. Have you ever seen him look at her? His 



22 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

very eyes speak adoration. Judge^ you are his closest- 
friend, why don't you tell him how the wind is blowing? 
Tell him to loosen up a bit. 

Enter Beverly Bonfoey from rear l. 

Beverly {at c. e. ; hows). Good-evening. 

Judge {seated r. c.)- Beverly! We were just talking 
about you. 

Sallie {makes signs to Judge). Shh ! 

Beverly {comes down c). My two dearest friends, I 
trust I fared gently in your discourse. 

Sallie. Beverly, have you noticed anything about 
your friend Mr. Chaudet lately? 

Beverly. In what particular? 

Judge. Miss Sallie was just saying that he is smitten 
with Azalea's charms. 

Beverly {to Sallie). You mean that he is paying her 
attention? 

Sallie. I mean that she is half in love with him al- 
ready. 

Judge. Now, Miss Sallie 

Sallie. Don't interrupt me. I've made up my mind 
to tell Beverly everything, and when Sallie Sellers makes 
up her mind the California gold fever, the Wilmot Pro- 
viso and the whole Mexican war cannot unmake it. If 
you really care for her, Beverly, take my advice and put 
a little more activity in your wooing. 

Beverly {slowly). I never realized it. I — I never 
thought she cared for Raoul Chaudet. Why, he's been 
here only a short time. She's known him scarce a fort- 
night. 

Sallie. It took only seven days to make the world; 
surely a woman's heart may be won in half that time. 

Judge. Some women's hearts. 

Beverly. But it is preposterous. No one knows any- 
thing about him. 

Sallie. You are his sponsor. 

Beverly. I met him at the college commencement. 
He told me he was coming to Virginia for his health. 
Naturally I invited him to Bonfoey. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 23 

JuDGt;. His health, bah ! He's strong enough to join 
the general exodus to California to dig up the golden 
rainbow. 

Beverly. I wonder if he has spoken to 'Zalie. 

Sallie. You may >est assured, Beverly. Madame 
I'lonfoey would never consider him eligible for a moment. 

Jiixa:. Certainly not. Your mother is a far-seeing 
lady. Although Providence has seen fit to destroy her 
eyesight it has rendered her sense of perception doubly 
acute. 

(. /// are dozen c. ; Sallie r. c, Beverly c. and Judge 
l. c. Enter from r. i e., Madame Bonfoey, leaning 
lightly on the arm of Mam ' Dicey.) 

Madame (at r. i e.). There is some one here? 

Dicey. Yassum. Mistah Beverly's yere, an' Miss 
Sallie an' d' Jedge. 

Madame. You are very welcome, Sallie. My brother, 
the Judge, counts the hours until he sees you again. 
Would that I could make you welcome here permanently. 
Beverly ! 

(Beverly kisses her forehead, puts his arms around 
her and leads her to chair l. c. ) 

Be\terly {as he kisses her). Mother! 

Madame. It is only times like these that I wish I 
were not blind. I'd give the world to see my boy. 

Sallie. You'll excuse us, Madame? The youngsters 
are having an archery contest on the lawn and I reckon 
the Judge and I had better act as chaperones. 

(Crosses to c. e^ with Judge.) 

Madame. Take good care of the Judge, Sallie. And 
I wish you could be a little more kind to him. 
Judge. My sentiments exactly. 
Sallie. Probably I shall. 
Judge (eagerly). You mean that? 
Sallie. Some day. 

{Laughs and exits at rear l., followed by Judge.) 



24 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Madame. Go and find Azalea, Beverly, and join the 
others. I'm afraid you're not enjoying your youth as 
you should, son. You work too hard. 

Beverly. Mother, I want to speak to you. 

Madame {lightly). How serious you sound. Mam' 
Dicey, I'll ring when I want you. 

Dicey. Yassum. {Exits at r. i e. 

Madame. I have been expecting you to come to me 
for some days, Beverly, There is something on your 
mind. 

Beverly. You have noticed it ? 

Madame. Could I fail to do so? You are all I have, 
my only child, the last of our race. 

Beverly. I — I 

Madame. You want to get married. 

Beverly. Mother ! 

Madame. Have I guessed your secret? 

Beverly. It's — it's Azalea. 

Madame. Well ? 

Beverly. Well ! You're not surprised ? 

Madame. Not in the least, son; it is what I have 
silently been longing for. Azalea is the child of my 
dearest friend; for years she and her sister have been 
as my own daughters to me. I know of no one I would 
rather see the future mistress of Bonfoey. 

Beverly. If {Hesitates.) 

Madame. If what? 

Beverly. There are two sides to this question, 
mother. I may offer her my hand, but will she harken 
to my suit? 

Madame. Only speak your mind and Azalea will no 
longer hesitate to let her happiness be seen. {He shakes 
his head silently.) You are silent. What do you sus- 
pect ? 

Beverly {slowly). That her affections are engaged 
elsewhere. My friend Raoul Chaudet. 

Madame. Do you suppose for an instant that Azalea 
would consider him? 

Beverly. Why not? 

Madame. She scarcely knows him. We know noth- 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 2$ 

ing of his connections. Dismiss such a thought from your 
mind ; see her and settle the matter at once. She is in 
the dining-room. 

Beverly {crosses to r. i e. and looks off). How 
beautiful she is. The very thought that another man 
should come between us 

Madame. Trust me, Beverly, he never shall. Leave 
us, L will speak to her. Trust me, all will be right be- 
fore we meet again. 

(Beverly kisses her hand and exits rear l. Azalea 
enters from r. i e. ) 

Azalea. Madame! 

{Crosses to her and arranges pillow for her.) 

Madame. Beverly has just been with me, dear. We 
were talking of you. 

Azalea. Of me? 

Madame. Yes, you are very dear to us. Azalea, very 
dear to both of us. 

Azalea. Madame, you have been as a mother to me 
and Nancy all these years. How can I ever thank you 
sufficiently ? 

Madame. This has been your home for many years, I 
should like to think that it might ever be so. (Azalea 
starts. ) Are you quite happy here. Azalea ? 

Azalea {after a slight pause speaks in a low voice). 
Quite happy, Madame. 

Madame. I am rejoiced to hear you say so. He is 
not. 

Azalea. Beverly not happy? 

Madame. You are a woman now, dear. Can you be 
blind to the great, honest affection he bears for you ? 

Azalea. For me ? No, no ! 

Madame. You would not trifle with his happiness, 
Azalea ? Let me plead for him. 

Enter Phct:be from rear l. 

FucEBE {calls before she enters). 'Zalie ! 'Zalie! Oh, 
there you are. Pardon, Madame. {Curtsies to 
Madame.) Mr. Chaudet has won the tournament and 



26 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

has chosen Azalea for the queen. I am sent to convey 
your majesty to the court of your loyal subjects. 

Madame {to Azalea). Go with her, dear. You must 
not neglect our guests. To-night I will speak with you 
again. 

Azalea. Yes, Madame. 

Madame. Call Mam' Dicey for me. 

Azalea {crosses to r. i e. and calls). Mammy! 

Enter Dicey from.R. i e. She crosses to Madame and 
assists her to rise. Enter Chaudet from rear l. 

Chaudet. I have come to escort the queen. 

Phcebe. And I go to announce her coming. 

[Exit rear l. 

Madame {at door r. i e.). To-night, Azalea. 

[Exit at R. I E., assisted by Dicey. 

Chaudet. What did she mean? 

Azalea. Oh, I can't tell you. 

Chaudet. Everything is ready for us to leave to- 
night. You will go? You will ! {She hesitates.) Why 
don't you say you will and make me the happiest man 
in all America? 

Azalea. I'll send you a letter. I must be alone. I 
must think. 

Chaudet. Only say you care for me. 

Azalea. I do, I do. Now, go. Make my excuses to 
the guests. Please leave me. I want to make up my 
mind. 

Chaudet. As you will. I shall expect the letter at 
once. 

{Bows and exits rear l. Azalea stands perfectly still, 
lost in thought. ) 

Azalea {after a pronounced pause). I'll do it. I'll 
go with him. 

{Crosses to desk and writes letter with a quill pen.) 

Enter Shad from rear l. 

Shad. 'Scuse me. Miss 'Zalie. De gen'lemen 'ud like 
a little mo' concoction for dey mint julep. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE fj 

Azalea. Mam' Dicey will give you the keys. 
(ResiDiics her zurithig.) 

Shad. Yassum, but I wanted your consent 'kase Mam' 
Dicey's mighty pertic'lar 'bout lettin' me git into de spirit- 
ous refreshments. She all d' time a-thinkin' dat I want 
to consume dem liquors fo' my own upkeep. {Crossing 
to R. IE.) Mam' Dicey shore is a suspicious woman, she 
shore is. {Hobbles out at r.) 

Azalea (reads). " I am going with you trusting to 
your honor and the love you say you bear me. God alone 
knows the wrong I am doing to the gentle hearts who 
have been so kind to me. I will be at the station in time 
for the night train. I am trusting everything to you ; do 
not betray my trust. Azalea." 

Enter Shad from r. i e., carrying a bottle. He crosses 
to c. E. 

Shad. She gimme it right away, kase I told her I 
didn' hab no time to argufy. 

Azalea. Unker Shad, I want you to take this letter 
to Mr. Chaudet. 

Shad. Yassum ; he's out there under d' trees now. 

Azalea. And don't let any one see you deliver it. 
Hide it. Put it in your pocket. 

Shad. Yassum, it's in. 

Azalea (crosses to r.). And please see that he gets 
it at once. [Exit r. i e. 

Shad. Dat's mighty suspicious actin', 'pears to me. 
I wonder how come she don' want no one to see it. It 
cain't be no love message from Miss 'Zalie to dat Marse 
Chaudet ; dat wouldn't be possible no way you kin look 
at it. She ain' gwine fall in love with no man from 
Quebec. (Looks at letter.) Letter, what's in you ? You 
shore looks innocent (smells letter; sniffs) but you cer- 
tainly do smell suspicious. 

Enter Dicey from r. i e. 

Dicey. Shad, what dat you got ? 
Shad (hides letter behind him and assumes a look of 
innocence). Who, me? Ain' got nuffin. 



28 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Dicey. Yes, you is, too. I seen you hide sump'm. 

Shad. Yo' always a-seein' sump'm. 

Dicey. What I sees, I sees; an' what I knows, I 
knows. Gimme dat paper. 

Shad. You go 'long. 

Dicey. Gimme dat paper. 

Shad. How come I got to gib it to yo'? 

Dicey. Ain' I yo' wife? Your lawful wedded wife? 

Shad. Dat makes no dififrunce. Dis yere paper's pri- 
vate property. 

Dicey. When a man's married to me, he ain' got no 
private property. Dat hipperty-flipperty ginger-colored 
Zoe's done been writin' you a lub letter. 

Shad. No'm, she ain'. Dis yere letter don' belong to 
me, it's giben to me to gib to some one else. 

Dicey. Lemme look at it. 

Shad. Dis ain' no nigger letter, it's a quality letter. 

Dicey. Lemme look at it. 

Shad. No, ma'am, I jes' naturally can't do it. I's 
done giben my solemn word to deliber dis yere letter 
secretly. 

Dicey. Secretly, eh? Who's it for? 

Shad (miserably). I can't tell you. 

Dicey (close to him). You better tell me. 

(Tries to get it.) 

Shad. Now see yere. Dicey 

Dicey. Don' you "Dicey " me, you lemme see dat 
letter. (He pushes her away.) 

(Madame appears at door r. i e.) 

Madame. Dicey ! 

Dicey (hurries to her). Yas'm. Right yere. 

Madame. Who is with you? 

Dicey. Ain't nobody wif me, 'ceptin' Shad. Yas'm, 
dat's all. Jes' me an' Shad. 

Madame. You were quarrelling. 

Dicey. He got a letter an' he won' lemme know 
nuffin 'bout it. 

Shad (l. c). It ain' none ob my letter. Miss 'Zalie 
done gib it to me to gib to Marse Chaudet. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 29 

Madame. Give it to me. 

SiiAD (hesitates). Miss 'Zaiie done said 

Madame. Give it to me ! 

(Shad is frightened and hands letter to Dicey who 
hands it to Madame.) 

Dicey. Yas'm, yere it is. 
Madame. Find Azalea and send her to me. 
Dicey. Yas'm. [Exit R. i e. 

Madame. Shadrach, you go out on the lawn and tell 
my son that I wish to speak to him at once. 

Shad. Yas'm, I'm gone. [Exit rear l. 

(Madame feels her way to chair at r. c. and sits faeing 
the audience. After a slight pause Beverly enters 
from rear l.) 

Beverly {coming down l. c). You sent for me. 
Madame. Here is a letter. Read it to me. 
Beverly. Azalea's handwriting. 

Madame. And intended for your friend, Mr. Chaudet. 
Beverly. For Chaudet ! 

{Soft music: "Carry Me B.ack to Old Virginny," 
chorus only. Enter Azalea from r. i e. ) 

Azalea {down r. ; gasps). My letter! 

Madame {rises). Azalea, come here. {Moves to c.) 

Azalea. Here I am. {Comes to her r.) 

Madame. Beverly! 

Beverly {at l., behind table). Mother! 

Madame. It seems that you have been corresponding 
with Monsieur Chaudet, Azalea. Beverly, read the letter. 

Azalea {in tones of agony). No, no! 

Beverly. Mother, is this right? 

Madame. Right! Right to protect an innocent girl, 
my ward, almost my daughter? What does she know of 
evil-doers or the horrors of the world ? Read ! (Beverly 
reads letter to himself, expresses deep emotion, buries 
his face in his hands, back to audience.) I am waiting. 

Beverly. Do you insist? 

Madame. It is my right. I insist. 



30 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Beverly (reads very slowly). " You ask me (o go with 
you away from my home. I have hesitated but my de- 
cision has been made. If I go away I will break two 
hearts dearer to me than life. Your ways are not my 
ways. I have been wavering, but now I am strong — all the 
stronger for the temptation. Raoul Chaudet, I will not 
go with you ! " 

Madame (opens her arms toward Azalea). 'Zalie! 

(Azalea sobs in Madame's arms. Beverly tiirns up 
stage, his back tozvard the audience, his face buried 
in his arms. Music swells as) 

SLOW CURTAIN 

Note. — When Beverly pretends to read the letter it 
must be made clear to the audience that he is improvising 
for the benefit of Madame. He need not refer to the 
real letter. Azalea's pantomime of despair, wonder and 
final relief will help the scene greatly. 



THE SECOND ACT 

SCENE I. — TJie same as in the first act, hut it is now 
night and the candelabra are lighted. The curtain rises 
rapidly without music. Laughter and conversation are 
heard off r. i e. As the curtain rises Sallie and two 
girls enter from R. i e. 

Sallie (crossing to l. zcith the girls). And my lady 
wore a turban, if you please, one of those old-fashioned 
Letitia Romolino head-dresses that were famous when 
Harrison was president. 

(Nancy and Mary enter while she is talking. They 
sit at table at r.) 

Mary. La, how can you remember back so far? 
Sallie. Don't interrupt me, Mary Rose. I was de- 
scribing the opening ball at White Sulphur last year. 

Enter several girls, laughing and talking. They group at 
rear. 

Mary. I ask your pardon. Cousin Sallie. 

Sallie. It was positively bourgeois. 

Nancy. But the President was there. 

Sallie. President, indeed ! Why couldn't we have 
had Winfield Scott? There's a man for you, and Mrs. 
Scott such a high-bred woman. Oh, these Democrats! 

Nancy. But the Whigs elected Mr. Taylor. 

Sallie. Fiddle-de-dee, they're all tarred with the same 
stick. Just wait till the next election, there'll be a change, 
I warrant you, and the White House manners will slip 
off the President's back like an outer garment, and plain 
old Zachary Taylor will be his homespun self again. 

Enter Phcebe and one or two other girls. 

Phcebe. My, I hated to come away. 

31 



32 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 



Mary. You hated to leave the gentlemen. It took 
you long enough. 

Phcebe (makes a little "face" at her). Cooped up in 
here like a flock of distracted hens. Let's have a game 
of battledore and shuttlecock on the front gallery. 

Sallie. Certainly not; it's quite dark out there now. 

Nancy. And the gentlemen might come in and v^^onder 
what had become of us. 

Phcebe (sits at r.). Then we'll sit and fold our httle 
hands and patiently wait the pleasure of our lords and 
masters. 

(Azalea enters from r. i e. with Madame. They 
come down r. c. ) 

Madame. I hope you all are enjoying yourselves. 

All. Oh, yes, Madame. Certainly. (Etc.) 

Madame (seated r. c). Probably Phoebe will recite 
something for us. From Lalla Rookh, by Thomas 
Moore. 

Nancy. Oh, do, Phoebe. I adore Tom Moore. 

Phcebe. Pray excuse me. I haven't recited for such 
a long time I cannot think of the words. 

Sallie. Too much Dombey and Son. 

Nancy. Dombey and Son ? Who are they ? 

Sallie. It's a novel written by that hobble-de-hoy 
Englishman who presumes to criticize our American 
manners. His style is atrocious. 

Phoebe. But his stories are lovely. So pathetic; I 
just weep and weep. 

Sallie. Positively our house is littered from end to 
end with his innumerable, green, paper-covered brochures. 
It seems that his tales are printed in installments. 

Nancy. I'd love to read them. May I, Madame? 

Madame. I think not, Nancy. You had better spend 
your spare time on your Ancient History. 

Nancy. Yes, Madame. (To Mary.) I detest An- 
cient History, all about kings and wars and things. I 
like to know who married who, and how it came about. 

Madame. Suppose we have a little music. Patty, 
won't you oblige us ? 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 33 

Mary. Do, Patty. Sing Annie Laurie. 

{A Girl sings tzvo stanzas of " Annie Laurie." All 
applaud. ) 

Sallie. I wonder what on earth is detaining the 
gentlemen. I hope the Judge isn't telhng one of his 
shocking stories. Whenever he does that the gentlemen 
lose all sense of time and place and forget that there are 
such creatures as ladies on the planet. {Laughter and 
applause heard off stage at r. i e.) I reckon he's started. 

Phcebe {peeping through r. i e.). No, he's just fin- 
ished. They're getting up. 

Sallie. It's about time. I certainly hate to play sec- 
ond fiddle to Judge Pennymint's after-dinner stories. 

Enter Judge, Chaudet and several young gentlemen. 
They group around the stage talking to the ladies in 
pantomime. Judge down to Madame. 

Madame {aside to Judge, others all talking together in 
pantomime). Have you seen anything of Beverly? 

Judge. He saddled his mare and rode away like the 
wind long before dinner. 

Madame. I can't understand it at all. 

Judge. Don't worry. One can always trust Beverly, 

Madame. But it is so unlike him. 

Judge. I am sure he will return presently. 

Madame {rising). My friends, we are going to have 
some music and dancing by moonlight on the gallery. 
Azalea, please find Shad and tell him to take the mu- 
sicians into the conservatory. (Azalea exits at r. i e.) 

Phcebe. In the meantime let's have a little music 
here. Play us something, Mary Rose. 

Mary {at piano). Classical? 

Nancy. La, no. Something just as unclassical as 
possible. 

Mary. I reckon I understand. 

Chaudet. We might have a reel. 

All. Yes, yes. A reel! {Ete.) 

Sallie {to Chai'det wJio is near her). Remember, 
you asked me for the first dance. 



34 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Chaudet (bows). Delighted, Miss Sallie. 
(Leads her out.) 

(Four couples form for a square dance or the Vir- 
ginia Reel. The others group around the piano, and 
at rear. Judge leads Madame off at r. i e. ; Mary 
plays " Kingdom Coming " and all sing and dance. 
Put plenty of action in this scene, bodies swaying, 
hands clapping, fingers snapping, feet keeping time. 
All sing:) 

The scow is floating down the river, 

The darkies sing ho, ho; 
Good-bye, my love, good-bye forever, 

I'm off to Mexico. 
I'll swing my musket to my shoulder 

And leave at break of day ; 
I'm off to be a gallant soldier. 

Three thousand miles away. 

The bells all ring, ha, ha ! 

The darkies sing, ho, ho ! 
It must be now the kingdom coming, 

And the year of Jubilo. 

You told me you would never marry. 

You told me I could go. 
My sack is packed, I cannot tarry, 

I'm off to Mexico. 
The rivers there all flow with brandy, 

At least so I've been told. 
The girls are sweet as sugar candy, 

The streets are paved with gold ! 

The bells all ring, ha, ha ! 

The darkies sing, ho, ho ! 
It must be now the kingdom coming. 

And the year of Jubilo. 



^ 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 35 

I think I'll marry some sweel maiden, 

With eyes as black as jet, 
With gold doubloons her trunk is laden — 

I haven't met her yet. 
I'm going to fight with old Zach Taylor, 

You told me I could go, 
Or else I'll ship aboard a whaler 

And sail to Mexico ! 

The bells all ring, ha, ha ! 

The darkies sing, ho, ho ! 
It must be now the kingdom coming, 

And the year of Jubilo. 

(During the singing Judge and Azalea have entered 
from R. I E.) 

Azalea. The boys are ready on the gallery. 
Nancy. Hurray ! Select your partners for a polka. 

(All select partners and troop out at rear l., dancing 
and laughing. Azalea remains on the stage alone. 
She sits at r. Laughter and conversation heard off 
stage at rear l., followed by string music playing a 
polka. CiiAUDET enters from rear l. after a decided 
pause. ) 

Chaudet. 'Zalie ! 

Azalea. You ? 

Chaudet. Why have you avoided me? I have been 
waiting for your message. I am all ready to leave, but 
I must get away secretly. 

Azalea. Why ? 

Chaudet. Because it is necessary. What became of 
your message ? 

Azalea. There is no message. 

Chaudet. You mean 

Azalea. I mean that I am not going with you. 

Chaudet. And T thought you loved me. If it is a 
true love vou will give up evervthing to come with me. 
'Zalie ^ 

Enter Judge at rear l. 



36 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Judge. Miss 'Zalie, will you do me the honor to polk 
a little with an old man? 

Azalea {crosses to Judge with an air of relief). 
Thank you, sir. 

Judge. I hope I'm not intruding. 

Chaudet. You are, sir. 

Judge. I was addressing my remarks to the young 
lady, sir. 

Azalea. Certainly you are not intruding. Judge. Mr. 
Chaudet was just asking me to take a little ride with 
him, and I refused. That's all. 

Judge. Then I am sure he will excuse us and we can 
join in the polka, if you will so honor me. 

(They bow to Chaudet and exeunt at rear l.) 

Enter Shad from r. i e. 

Chaudet. Did you pack all my belongings, Shad? 

Shad. Yassir, dey's all ready. Are you goin' away, 
sah? 

Chaudet. Yes. On the night train. 

Shad. You want one of the boys to drive you over to 
the station, sah? 

Chaudet. Yes. In about half an hour, and, 
Shad 

Shad. Yassir? 

Chaudet. Not a word to any one about my inten- 
tions. No one must know that I am leaving Bonfoey to- 
night. You see I've had a sudden business call to the 
city. I expect to return in a few days and then I will 
explain everything. 

Shad. Yassir. I'll 'tend to d' hitchin' up, sah. 

Chaudet. There's a little present for your trouble. 

{Hands him hill.) 

Shad. Thank you, sah. 

Chaudet. And there'll be another one for you when 
I get to the station. Remember, Shad, not a word to 
any one. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 37 

Shad. Yassir, I understand. [Exit at r. 

(CiiAUDET stands in front of fireplace in a reflective 
mood. Pause. Enter Mary from rear l. ) 

Mary. Oh, I didn't know any one was here. 

CiiAUDET. I hope I'm not in the way. 

Mary. Oh, sir, quite the contrary. 

Chaudet. You're not dancing, Miss Mary Rose. 

Mary. No, that's the reason I ran away. I don't 
reckon any girl Hkes to be a wall-flower. 

CiiAUDET. I'm sure such a fair rose would never 
I)loom by the wall. (Bows.) 

Mary (curtsies). Maybe it's because I don't polk very 
well. 

Chaudet. I'm sure you do. 

Mary. No, I don't. I never took any lessons. Why, 
if you should ask me to dance I'd faint, I'm sure. 

Chaudet. The polka is very easy. This is the way 
it goes ! (Dances.) One, two, and a one-two-three ! 

(Repeat business.) 

Mary (dancing by herself). One, two, and a one- 
two-three ! (Repeat. ) 

Chaudet. There, you do it perfectly. Now try it 
with me. (They dance.) 

Mary. La, it's just as easy as anything with you. 

Chaudet (dancing). I was sure you could get it. 

Mary. It's because I have such a proficient master. 

(They dance out at rear l. Slight pause. The music 
ends. Nancy and a young man enter engaged in 
animated pantomimic conversation. They cross to 
rear r. and sit on the steps talking. Pause, then 
enter Sallie from rear l. folloived by Judge who 
is zviping his face tvith a huge silk bandana hand- 
kerchief. ) 

Sallie (crosses dozvn r. and sits). Oh, now you want 
to apologize, I reckon. 

Judge (down c). Apologize, Miss Sallie, what for? 



38 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Sallie. Can you ask me what for ? 

Judge. I certainly can, and I am at a complete loss 
for the answer. 

Sallie. I thought you didn't intend to dance this 
evening. 

Judge. Well, I didn't really dance, you know. I just 
walked around, as it were. 

Sallie. Yes, I noticed you. 

Judge. You were having a good time with young 
Tolliver. 

Sallie. Good time, indeed? Half the time he was 
dancing on my toes, but I had to be polite and tell him 
what a wonderful dancer he was. I'm going to speak 
to his mother and have her send him to a dancing class. 

Judge. I'm sure he is a more graceful dancer than 
I am. 

Sallie. La, are you a graceful dancer. Judge? 

Judge. Will you decide by trying the next waltz with 
me? 

Sallie. I'm sorry. I promised the next to Mr. Chau- 
det. 

Judge (stiffly). Indeed? Then I wish you a very 
good-evening. (Starts off l.) 

Sallie (curtsies). And many happy returns of the 
occasion. 

Judge (up l.). I'm going. 

Sallie. Good-bye ! 

Judge (coming c. a little). I really believe you want 
to get rid of me. 

Sallie. Not at all, but I supposed you desired to 
return to Azalea. 

Judge (coming to her impetuously). Miss Sallie 

Sallie. Don't say it. 

Judge. You know what I intended to say ? 

Sallie. Well, I rather surmised the tenor of your 
advances. 

Judge. Sallie Sellers, for the last time, will you be 
my wife? 

Sallie (taken aback). Judge! 

Judge. I am waiting for my answer. 



I 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 39 

Sallie. I — er, that is 

Judge. I'm tired of dangling on a string like a poor 
trout. I offer you a life's devotion, but this is positively 
my last proposal. 

Sallie. I must have a little time to consider. 

Judge. Not an hour, not a second. The offer is be- 
fore you — take it or leave it. My patience is exhausted. 

Sallie. How you go on ! Is that the way for an 
ardent swain to speak, sir ? 

Judge. Miss Sallie, I have proposed to you numerous 
times and I have exhausted the entire category of styles 
of addressing one's suit. I am finished. Will you, or 
will you not ? 

Sallie. You are so matter-of-fact, Judge. 

Judge {spreads handkerchief on floor and kneels at 
her feet). Then I will be ardent. For the last time I offer 
you my hand in marriage — er, that is, I want your hand 
— you know — to love, honor and obey ! Remember, Sallie, 
it's the last time I'll ever propose. {Extends arms.) 
Say you will ! 

Nancy {coming to c. e.). Oh, Judge, have you lost 
something? 

Judge {rattled). Yes, I can't find it. It belongs to 
Miss Sallie. 

Sallie {rising in confusion). Have you found it yet. 
Judge ? 

Judge {crawling around looking in impossible places). 
Not yet, but it must be here somewhere. 

Nancy {comes down l. with her escort). Maybe we 
can help you find it. {They search at l.) 

Sallie {searching at r.). I'm sure I had it just a mo- 
ment ago. 

Judge {on knees at c). Certainly you did. It must 
have rolled away. 

Nancy. By the way, Judge, what are we looking for? 

Judge {blankly). What are we looking for? By 
George, I don't know. That is, of course I knew once, 
but I've forgotten. Miss Sallie, what are we looking for? 

Sallie. My handkerchief. No, here's my handker- 
chief in my hand. It's my little hand-bag. The one 



40 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

grandma gave me last Christmas, Pink, embroidered 
with gold — you know, Nancy. 

Nancy. Isn't that your hand-bag on your arm? 

Sallie {looks at it blankly). Why, so it is. 

Judge (laughs nervously). Of course it is. We've 
found it. (Rises.) 

( Walfz music off rear l. ) 

Nancy. The music is beginning. This is our waltz. 
Judge. 

Judge. Sure enough ? 

Nancy. Sure enough, the Blue Danube. Come, we 
mustn't miss a single bit. 

(Takes his arm and leads him to rear l.) 

Sallie (to Nancy's escort). If you'll help me find 
Mr. Chaudet. (He bozvs and she takes his arm.) 

Judge (comes to Sallie and hisses in her ear). What 
is your answer, yes or no ? 

Nancy. No secrets in company. Hurry, Judge, every 
one's on the floor. (Dances him off at rear l.) 

Sallie. So near and yet so far. Aren't we having a 
lovely time, Mr. Bedford ? 

(Strolls out at rear l. with the young m,an.) 

Enter Dicey from r. i e. 

Dicey. Ain' dat music invigoratin' ? Jes' makes ma 
feet go dis-a-way an' dat-a-way. (Shuffles in time to 
music, humming a little. ) Feet, you bes' keep still. Yoii's 
Mefodis' born and Mefodis' bred, so hush yo' nonsense. 

Enter Azalea from rear l. 

Azalea. Mam' Dicey! 

Dicey. La, Miss 'Zalie, is dat you? I was jes' listenin' 
to d' music. Mighty fine music, dat is. 

Azalea. Has Beverly returned? (Doivni^.c.) 

Dicey (r. c). No'm, I ain' seen him since dusk. 
Keepin' his supper all nice an' hot fo' him in d' kitchen. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 4I 

I wonder how come him to ride off wild-like dat-a-way. 
Shad say he rid out'n de lawn like he done been possessed, 
wif nary a hat ner a coat to his back, jes' ridin' like de 
wind. 

Azalea. When he comes in please tell him I want 
to speak to him. 

Dicey. Yas'm, I'll tell him. Miss 'Zalie! (Pause.) 
You mustn't worry 'bout Marse Beverly. He's pure gol', 
he is, and he worships de very groun' you tread on. 
Won't even look at another young lady, don't even think 
ob no one but you. Dat's what I call constancy, Miss 
'Zalie, and / knows, kase I's had 'em dat way myself. 

Azalea. Oh, mammy, I've — I've driven him away. 
(Tearfully, Dicey takes her in her arms.) I want him 
to come back. I want to tell him that it was all a mis- 
take. I didn't mean to do wrong, I was only a weak 
foolish girl. I've — I've broken his heart. 

Dicey. Thar, thar, honev, don't take on dat-a-way, 
don' y', don' y' I 

Azalea. I've driven him away, mammy. He'll never 
come back to Bonfoey again. He'll never look at me 
again. 

Dicey. Don' you believe it, honey lam' ! Men ain' 
built dat way. If he loves you, he'll come back to you, 
and de Lawd knows he loves you. 

Azalea. You don't understand ! He thinks I care for 
some one else. He's gone away for good. 

Dicey. Thar, thar, Miss 'Zalie, you dry yo' eyes and 
go on back on de gallery and join de dancers. Marse 
Beverly'll be 'long presently and I'll send him out to you. 

Azalea. How can I go out there and dance when my 
head is bowed to the dust in shame ? I can't bear to look 
our guests in the face when I think of the cruel wrong 
I have done to him. Oh, mammy, I can't bear it, I can't 
bear it. 

Dicey. You come on up-stairs with me, honey, and 
let old Dicey make you a good cup o' tea. You's nervous 
and all upset, honey. (Leading her to rear r.) Jes' you 
lean on old Mammy Dicey. Everything'll come out all 
right, honey. Don' you take on; old Mammy Dicey'll 



42 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

make everything all right. Jes' you come up and lie 
down. {They go out at rear r. and upstairs.) 

Enter Shad from r. i e. He crosses to l. and looks out 
of the window. 

Shad. Can't see nothin' ob him. Been gone five 
hours an' ridin' like de wind. He cert'n'ly should be home 
by now. Somebody's ridin ' up de road ! 

Enter Chaudet from rear l. with Sallie. 

Sallie. I think I'll have to run up-stairs and pin up 
my flounce. Cicero Robberson put his foot clear through 
it. Oh, it makes me so exasperated. You'll excuse me 
a moment, Mr. Chaudet. 

Chaudet. Certainly. 

Sallie {at rear r.). I'll be down in a minute. 

{Runs up the stairs.) 

Shad {at window). He's turnin' in; he's turnin' in 
de gate. 

Chaudet {at l. c). Who is? 

Shad. I dunno, sah. Gen'leman on hossback, sah. 

{Music ends off stage at l.) 

Chaudet {aside). Cameo Clemm ! Quick, Shad, go 
out and get the buggy ready for me. I leave at once. 
By the back way. 

Shad. It's all ready now, sah. 

Chaudet. And my luggage? 

Shad. All ready in your room, sah. 

Chaudet. Good! {Crosses to rear r.) If any one 
asks for me. Shad, present my excuses and say that I 
retired with a headache. Meet me at the stables in 
fifteen minutes. [Exit up-stairs at rear R. 

Enter Beverly from rear L., dusty and dishevelled. 

Shad. Good Lawd, it's Marse Beverly ! 
Beverly {zvearily). Go and put up my mare. Shad. 
I'm afraid she's spent. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 43 

Shad. But, Marse Beverly, yo' supper 

Beverly. Never mind me. Attend to my horse. 
Shad. Yassir. [Exit at rear l., hurriedly. 

Beverly. What must be done ? What must be done ? 

{Sinks in chair at r.) 

Enter Sallie from rear r. dozen the stairs. 

Sallie. I saw Mr. Chaudet go into his room. Pretty 
treatment, I must say ! I wonder if I'm to play the wall- 
flower all the evening. 

Enter Judge from rear l. 

Judge. Miss Sallie ! 

Sallie. Yes ? 

Judge. Have you repaired the damage? 

Sallie. Oh, yes, my gown 's fixed but my escort has 
deserted me. 

Judge. Are you ready to answer my question? 

Sallie. La, did you ask me a question ? 

Judge. You know to what I refer. Is it yes or no? 

Sallie. What question are you talking about ? 

Judge. I won't ask it again. 

Sallie. Then of course you can't expect an answer. 

Judge. You mean that you won't give me an answer. 

Sallie. They're forming for a reel. (Looking off 
l.) After it is over come to me and ask me again and 
then maybe I'll say yes. (Laughs and crosses to rear l.) 
And maybe I'll say no. [Exit at rear l. 

Judge. I won't ask her again if I live to be as old as 
Methuselah. (Comes down c.) Beverly! I didn't see 
you. 

Beverly (rouses himself.) I just came in. 

Judge. Then you did not witness the heart-breaking 
scene that just occurred? 

Beverly. Where ? 

Judge. Right here. 

Beverly. What was it? 

Judge. The end of my romance. I proposed to Miss 
Sallie for the last time, and she met my proposal with 
levity. With levity, sir. 



44 OLt) DAYS IN DIXIE 

Beverly. Oh, that's just Miss SalUe's way, Judge. 

Judge. I will never ask her to be my wife again. 
(Sits.) Thus ends the only romance of my life. Egad, 
sir, if I were ten years younger I'd go to California. 
Out there in searching for gold I might forget all tender 
memories. 

Beverly {slozvly, as if thinking deeply). Forget all 
tender memories? 

Judge. And tear the love from out my heart. Cali- 
fornia, hard work, the gold fever, the one chance in a 
thousand of making a fortune ! By George, I've a notion 
to go, even if I am fifty-three. California, that's the 
place, that's the panacea for a man of blighted hopes. 
Men are trooping there by thousands from every state 
in the country, from the lands across the sea, to try their 
luck with the fickle goddess of gold. (Rises suddenly.) 
I think I'll tell Miss Sallie that I'm off to California to 
cure a breaking heart. (Crosses to rear l.) I'll tell 
her now before I lose my ardor. Wait here, Beverly, 
I'll soon return. If she rebuffs me, I'm off to California 
in the morning. [Exits at rear l. 

Beverly (looks after him, pauses, then speaks slozvly). 
California, the panacea for a man of blighted hopes! 

(Sinks in chair at r.) 

(Music heard off rear l. " Kingdom Coming" played 
very softly. Enter Shad from rear l.) 

Shad. Ain' dere nothin' I can git fo' you, Marse 
Beverly ? 

Beverly (dully). Nothing. 

Shad. I took Brandy out to de stable and put her up. 
She's been run mighty hard, sah. 

Beverly. Yes, I know. I forgot all about her.^^ 

Shad. Mam' Dicey's done got you a good supper laid 
away, Marse Beverly. Shall I call her? 

Beverly (nervously) . I shan't want it. I can't eat, 
I can't think! (Rises and paces the floor.) Tell her to 
throw it away. (Explosively.) Don't stand there staring 
at me. Get out ! 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 45 

SiTAD (crosses to R. I K. ) . Dat's de first time in all his 
life he ever spoke to old Shad dat-a-way. I can't under- 
stand it, can't understand it at all. 

(Hobbles out at r. i k.) 

I'kverly (pacing the floor; pauses zvliile he speaks). 
I must do it ! My honor is at stake, the honor of the 
woman I love. But how to go about it ! How ! Poor 
'Zalie, it will break her heart. (Pause, then speaks in a 
determined voice.) But better a thousand times that it 
should break than that she should be led to disgrace 

Enter Chaudi"!' from rear R. down stairs. 

Chaudet (coming down l., carrying grip). Hello, 
Beverly! (Puts grip down.) Where did you come 
from? (Extends hand.) I didn't know you were ex- 
pected. 

Beverly (at c, close to Chaudet, speaks sternly). 
I was not expected. Sir, it is as well that you should 
know at once that I object to your attentions to my 
cousin. 

Chaudet (startled). What? 

Beverly (sternly). You understood me, sir. 

Chaudet. My \vord ! This is interesting, but not 
quite comprehensible. Perhaps you will enlighten me. 

Beverly. I think you understand me; I have made 
myself perfectly plain. 

Chaudet. Why, then, may I ask, can I not pay my 
devoirs to Miss Azalea ? 

Bevtirly. Because you are not a gentleman. 

Chaudet. Sir! (Pauses slightly, then tensely be- 
tween clenched teeth.) Do you know- what you are say- 
ing? Do you know w-hat this leads to? 

Beverly. I know^ perfectly the code of an American 
gentleman. 

Chaudet. You dare to say 

Beverly. I dare to say only that which I can prove, 
sir. I must ask you not to speak, not to see my cousin 
again. 

Chaudet. You dare ! 



^6 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Beverly. I dare. I have ridden twenty miles since 
dusk to verify my suspicions. I have learned of your 
conduct in the city, sir. Your visits to Cameo Clemm's 
gambling saloon, your friendship for Esta A^inetti. 

Chaudet. You insult me. You shall pay for this. 

Beverly. I insult no man under my own roof-tree, 
but I do not care to have you continue your acquaintance 
with my cousin. 

Chaudet. Stop ! before you proceed further let me 
demand your right. My attentions have not been dis- 
tasteful to Miss Lee, or she would have forbidden them. 
By what right do you interfere? 

Beverly. By the right of a man to protect an inno- 
cent orphan girl. 

Chaudet. Until she gives you that right, sir, I shall 
e'en pursue my own sweet will at my own convenience. 

Beverly. By the law, you shall not ! It is war to the 
knife between you and me. 

Chaudet. War to the knife, is it? To the knife let 
it be then, sir. Or if you prefer, the pistol ! I wish you 
a very good-evening, Mr. Bonfoey. To-morrow morn- 
ing, or this night, if you will, my friend shall call upon 
you and I will find a way to silence your impudent 
mouth forever. 

Beverly. Your challenge is accepted. I name my 
uncle. Judge Pennymint, as my second, and refer your 
friend to him. 

Chaudet. Luckily I have packed my belonging? 
and I will no longer intrude upon the renowned hospitality 
of Bonfoey Hall. My second will see the Judge within 
the hour. (Bows and exits at rear l. ) 

Enter Shad from r. i e. Dicey appears at rear R. ; she 
starts to come down c, huf pauses unobserved. 
Music ends. 

Beverly. Shad ! 

Shad {hurries to him). Yassir, right yere at you, 
Marse Beverly. 

Beverly. I want you to go up-stairs and find the little 
mahogany box in my cupboard. 



OLD DAYS IN DlXIi! 47 

Shad (alarmed). D' mahogany box, Marse Beverly. 
D' box wi' d' pistols in it, sah ? 

Bevf.rly, Yes. See that they are properly oiled. I'll 
have use for them to-night. 

(Dicey expresses horror and exits at rear R., upstairs.) 

SiiAD. Good Gawd, Marse Beverly. You ain' — gv^ine 
—to 

Beverly. That will do, Shad. Keep a quiet tongue 
in your head. 

Shad. Oh, Marse Beverly! Don' do it! Old Shad 
'ud give up his life fo' you, Marse Beverly. Lemme die 
fo' you. {Sobs.) 

Beverly {pats him on the shoulder). There, there, 
Shad. Make haste and obey my orders. And not a word 
to any one. 

Shad. But — — 

Beverly. Go at once. I am in no mood for expostu- 
lation. 

Shad. Yes, marse. [Exits at r. i e. 

Enter Phcebe from rear l. 

Phcebe. Cousin Beverly, you haven't seen anything 
of Mr. Chaudet, have you? 

Beverly (controls himself with difficidty). He was 
here a short time ago, Cousin Phoebe. 

Phcebe. He hasn't claimed me for the dance, and I 
certainly don't intend to go around without a partner. 

Beverly. I think that he has left the house. 

Phcebe. You mean that he has gone away? (Bev- 
erly nods. ) Sure enough ? 

Beverly. He has left Bonfoey. 

Phcebe. My land, what for? 

Beverly. He gave me no reasons. 

Phcebe (blankly). Whatever will 'Zalie do? 

Beverly. Does 'Zalie care for him very much ? 

Phcebe. Care for him? Sire adores him! You can 
see it in her every glance. We all do. (Beginning to 
cry.) And now he's gone away and we shall never see 
him again. He's g-g-gone away! (Music heard off l.) 



4 8 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Beverly. I had no idea that he was so popular. 

Phcebe. Of course Azalea was the favorite, but the 
rest of us adored him from a distance. Now, I'll never 
get that dance he promised me. Excuse me, I simply 
have to tell the girls. {Goes to rear l.) 

Enter Judge from rear l. 

Judge. What's wrong, Miss Phoebe? 

Phcebe. Oh, it's too heart-breaking for words. 
Cousin Beverly '11 tell you. [Exit rear l. 

Judge {comes down c). If I were ten years younger 
I'd leave for California in the morning. Why, how 
strange you look, Beverly. Is anything wrong? 

Beverly {down r.). I'll probably take your advice. 
Uncle Ira, and leave for California in the morning. 

Judge {at c. ). It's a great, wonderful adventure. Midas 
had touched the sands of the Sierras and bathed in a 
western Pactolus. All the nations of the earth have 
gathered in one little corner of the globe, to dig sand and 
dredge rivers. 

Beverly. If I am alive to-morrow I will consider the 
matter. 

]v'DG^ {amazed). Alive? Beverly, you are ill. You'd 
better retire. Is anything wrong? 

Beverly. Nothing has been wronged save my honor, 
sir. 

Judge. Your honor? You — mean — Chaudet? 

Beverly. A duel is imminent. I referred him to you 
as my closest friend. 

Judge. But, Beverly, this is serious. Damned serious. 

Beverly. You '11 stand by me, won't you ? 

Judge. You do me proud, sir. 

Beverly. It was the only way. I ordered him to 
cease his attentions to my cousin. Hot words and a 
challenge followed. {Pause.) I have never been con- 
nected with an affair of this kind before, uncle. You 
believe in it, don't you? 

Judge. I believe in a man's right — nay, his obligation 
— to settle aspersions upon his honor in this way, and the 
right rises to the dignity of a sacred privilege, sir, if the 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 49 

sword leaves its scabbard (zvork this speech "big") in 
defence of innocent and beautiful womanhood ! You 
were right to provoke the challenge, right to accept it. 
You make me your debtor, sir, by confiding your honor 
to my care. 

Beverly. I rode to the city at dusk and learned there 
that Raoul Chaudet was no ht suitor for the hand of my 
cousin. 

Judge. Certainly not. The poor child would perish 
like a butterfly in a flame. 

Beverly. He said that his second would call upon 
you to-night. 

Judge. What sort of a shot are you, Beverly? 

Beverly. I can cut saw-teeth around a visiting card 
at ten paces, but I desire no advantage. Mr, Chaudet is, 
I hope, competent, or he would not have suggested 
pistols. 

Judge. A duel is the best remedy for an injury, and 
the only one. I am thankful to say that I have never 
taken part in one that ended fatally to either of the prin- 
cipals. I winged my man once, slightly, and never had 
a night's sleep until he recovered. You know Colonel 
Revere? That's the old fellow — old now, but not then, 
and the best friend I have. 

Enter Azalea from rear r., doTxni stairs. 

Azalea (at rear c. e.). Beverly! 

Beverly (.y/a;'/.y). 'Zalie ! 

Azalea. I know what you are going to do. (Comes 
down to him.) I know what is in your mind. (Plead- 
ingly.) Don't do it, I beg of you! Promise me that you 
won't. It was all my fault, and let me bear the punish- 
ment. Speak to me, Beverly! Don't fight this man. If 
— if one of you should fall I'd be a murderess. On my 
knees I beg of you ! ( Grasps his arm as she kneels. ) 
Don't do it! I couldn't bear it. (Sobs.) 

Judge (assisting her to rise). There, there, 'Zalie. 
Don't take on that way. You're only making it harder 
for him. 

Azalea. Judge, I*ve been a wicked girl. I was ready 



50 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

to leave Bonfoey, to fly with Raoul Chaudet, but Beverly 
has saved me. I was weak, but now I am strong. He 
saved me, now for God's sake, save him ! 

Judge. Come with me, honey. You're all unstrung. 
Come up-stairs and let me find my sister for you. You 
should be asleep. 

Azalea. Sleep? If this dreadful thing occurs, I shall 
never sleep again. Beverly, Beverly, you must not do it, 
you shall not ! Speak to me ! Tell me that this will not 
proceed. 

Beverly. Take her up-stairs, Judge. 

Azalea (weeping). He will not speak. This is my 
punishment, and my punishment is more than I can bear. 

(Judge leads her to rear r. Dicey appears at rear r.) 

Judge. Go with Dicey, honey. Everything will be all 
right. 

Azalea. He won't listen to me. There is nothing I 
can do, nothing any woman can do. He will be killed, 
murdered, and it will be my crime. Oh, why can't I 
die? Why can't I die? 

(Sobs as Dicey leads her up the stairs and out rear r.) 

Beverly (sinks in chair at r.). How she loves him ! 

Judge (puts his hand on Beverly's shoulder). Steady, 
lad, steady. 

Beverly. I'd give the world for her affection, but her 
every thought is of his safety. 

(Boys and girls heard outside at rear l. singing:) 

The bells all ring, ha, ha ! 

The darkies sing, ho, ho ! 
It must be now the kingdom coming. 

And the year of Jubilo. 

(The singing grows louder and the boys and girls enter 
from rear l. and dance around the stage in a long 
line, repeating the chorus. They wear tissue paper 
caps and put plenty of zest in the singing and danc- 
ing. As they dance out at rear L.) 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 5I 

Nancy (calls). Come on, Beverly! Join the merry 
throng ! 

CURTAIN 



SCENE 2. — The same as Scene i, about five hours later. 
The curtain has been dozvn but a moment or two, 
when it rises on an empty stage. After a slight 
pause Nancy, Azalea and Madame enter from 
rear l. 

Madam i:. It must be very late. 

Azalea. Nearly two, Madame. 

Nancy. Oh, it was the duckiest party. I just danced 
and danced and danced. Now I'll go up-stairs and keep 
on dancing in my dreams. Good-night, Aladame. 

Madame (kisses her). Good-night, Nancy. 

Nancy. Don't be long, 'Zalie. 

Azalea. I'll be there soon, little sister. 

(Nancy exits at rear R. ) 

Madame. You seem rather tired to-night, dear. 
We'll postpone our little talk until morning. 

Enter Beverly and Judge from r. i e. 

Beverly. Have they all gone, mother? 

Madame. Yes, the party is over. Are you going to 
sit up late, Beverly? 

Beverly. A little, I think. I have some business to 
attend to. 

Madame. Always business. I won't try to sleep until 
I hear you coming up the stair. Come, 'Zalie. (They 
cross to rear R.) Tell Shadrach to be sure and close the 
house. He's in the dining-room. I think. I'll tell you 
good-night when you come up-stairs, son. To-morrow 
'Zalie and I will have a little conference with you. I'll 
not tell you what it is now, Beverly, but you may hope 
for the best, [Exit rear r. up-stairs with Azalea. 

Beverly. Hope for the best? My hopes will never 
be realized, my dreams have come to naught. 



52 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Judge. Are you sure that Chaudet said he'd send his 
friend to us to-night? (Beverly woe? j.) It's nearly two 
o'clock and (yazufus) that's rather late, you know. 

Beverly (crosses to window). I can't understand the 
delay. (Turns to Judge.) Judge, if we fight this duel 
to-night and I fall I want you to take care of 'Zalie for 
me. You won't let him marry her. 

Judge (near him). Never, sir, on my word of honor. 

(They clasp hands.) 

Beverly. To-morrow I leave the State. I'll write to 
you from California. You'll watch over her, won't you? 

Judge. Listen ! 

Beverly. What is it? 

Judge. I thought I heard the sound of a horse. 

Beverly (looks out of the window). A man is riding 
up to the house. 

Judge. Mr. Chaudet's friend. You'd better go up- 
stairs, Beverly. 

Beverly. As soon as I let him in. [Exits rear l. 

Enter Shad from r. i e. 

Shad. Marse Jedge, has they got to do dis thing? 
Ain' dere no way out ob it? I love Marse Beverly 
more'n anything on earth, Jedge. I jes' couldn't stand 
it ef anything was to happen to him. 

Enter Beverly from rear l., followed hy Clemm. 

Judge (down r. c.). You come from Mr. Chaudet, 
sir? 

Clemm (down c.). Come from him? I'm here to 
settle this matter. 

Judge. Won't you be seated ? 

Clemm. Not until I get my money. 

Beverly (af r^-ar L.). Money? What money? 

Clemm. The eight hundred dollars that's owing to me 
from Raoul Chaudet. 

Judge. W^e know nothing of any debt. We rather sur- 
mised that you came on another matter. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 53 

Clemm. Chaudet's cleared out. 

Judge. Cleared out? 

Clemm. Took the night train north. 

Beverly. You mean that he has gone? 

SiiAD (at R. front corner). 'J'hank Cod, thank God! 

CLE^[^r. You all seem surprised. 

Judge. We are, sir. We had no idea that he was 
leaving the country to-night. 

Clemm. Well, he's left a note of eight hundred dol- 
lars behind him. My boys saw him buy a ticket to Wash- 
ington and get on the train. They rushed up to my 
rooms to tell me and I rode like wildfire to the station, but 
it was too late. He has left Virginia. 

Judge. The coward has shirked the fight. If he ever 
shows his face here again he'll wish he'd never been born. 

Beverly {coming doum l.). We thank you, sir, for 
your courtesy in bringing us the information. 

Clemm. Say, I didn't ride over yere at two o'clock in 
the morning to bring no information. I came after my 
money. 

Judge. Money owed to you by Chaudet? 

Clemm. Correct. I got his note. 

Beverly. CoHect it at the bank. 

Clemm. I tried that, but he had no funds. 

Judge. Do you expect us to make it good? 

Clemm. You can u.se your own judgment about that. 
You-all endorsed it. 

Beverly. I think you are mistaken. 

Judge. I'm sure of it. 

Clemm. I reckon not. I don't usually make mistakes 
about endorsements. 

Beverly. At any rate this is neither the time nor 
place to discuss the matter. Shad, show Mr. Clemm the 
door. 

Clemm. You can't show me the door until I know 
whether or not I'm goin' to git my money. 

Beverly. We pay no gambling debts here. 

Clemm. My business is not with you, sir, but w'ith 
the mistress of the house. 

Judge. Preposterous ! 



54 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

(Madame and Azalea appear at rear R.) 

Clemm. Let her tell me so. 

(Madame and Azalea come down r. c. Beverly is at 
L., Clemm at c, Judge down r., and Shad in door 
at r. I e. ) 

Madame. What is it, Beverly? 

Clemm. Madam 

Beverly. Silence! This man 



Madame. Asked for the mistress of the house. I am 
here, sir, waiting to hear what you have to say. 

Clemm (abashed). I've — well, it's a little matter of 
business, but I reckon to-morrow will do as well. 

Madame. Your name, please. (Slight pause.) I am 
blind, sir ; I cannot see you. 

Clemm. My name is Clemm, Madame. 

Madame. Clemm ? 

Clemm (bows). Cameo Clemm, at your service. 

Madame. And what is your business with me, Mr. 
Clemm ? 

Beverly. Mother ! 

Madame. Silence, Beverly! Mr. Clemm has some- 
thing particular to say to me. Well, sir, I am at your 
service. 

Clemm. Mistress Bonfoey, I am sorry to have to 

Judge. Mr. Clemm, after all this is merely a matter of 
business. I am surprised you should speak of it at such 
a time. The note will be paid, of course. 

Madame. Note ? What note ? 

Clemm. A note for eight hundred dollars. It was 
given to me by Mr. Chaudet as the payment of a debt 
of honor. 

Madame. Call Mr. Chaudet. Your business is evi- 
dently with him. 

Clemm. He's done left the State and the note proved 
valueless at the bank. 

Madame. Valueless ? 

Clemm. That is, it was returned to me marked " no 
funds." 

Madame. Why not send it to Mr. Chaudet ? 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE CC 

Clemm. I showed it to him tliis evening and he made 
it good. 

5l.\DAME. He paid you? 

Cli:mm. No, Madame, he secured your endorsement 
to the note. 

Madame. My endorsement ? Absurd! 

Clemm (takes note from wallet and hands it to Bev- 
erly). See, there is your mother's signature. 

Judge. Impossible. 

Madame. I endorsed no note. 

Clemm. Then it is a forgery. Raoul Chaudet was a 
forger. 

Azalea {in agony). No, no! It isn't true. It can't 
be true. 

Clemm. A trickster, a criminal ! 

Beverly. Stop ! 

Clemm. He forged that signature and I stand to lose 
eight hundred dollars. 

Beverly. No, Cameo Clemm, you will not lose one 
penny. That forgery is not the work of Raoul Chaudet. 

Clemm (aggressively and loudly). It isn't? Then 
who did it ? 

Beverly. I did. 

All. Beverly ! 

Beverly. Rest assured, Mr. Clemm, your note will 
be paid from my account. Shad, show the gentleman 
cut! 



RATHER QUICK CURTAIN 



THE THIRD ACT 

SCENE. — The same as for Act I, but three years have 
elapsed; it is now a bright, April morning in i8j2. All 
bright colors have been removed from the scene. The 
large table and chairs that were down l. in the pre- 
ceding acts now appear down r., and the easy chair 
and footstool that were down r. are now down l. The 
small table that stood down r. in the second act has 
disappeared. 

{The curtain rises slowly as the orchestra plays the 
chorus of " Carry Me Back to Old Virginny," slowly 
and plaintively. Azalea is seated at the table down 
R. gazing pensively at an old-fashioned daguerreo- 
type. Nancy is seated down l. sewing. Music ends 
as Azalea speaks.) 

Azalea. If Madame could only see this likeness of 
Beverly, what a comfort it would be to her broken heart. 

Nancy. I can scarcely realize that three years have 
passed since — since we saw him. 

Azalea {looking at picture). This is indeed his coun- 
terpart, the same noble face, gentle and yet proud and 
{tearfidly) we- — shall — never see him again. 

Nancy. 'Zalie, don't you think we should go away 
somewhere ? 

Azalea. Go away? Away from Bonfoey? 

Nancy. You are wrong thus to wrap yourself iip in 
your affliction. Maybe if we could go to White Sulphur 
for a little vacation 

Azalea. No, no ! I couldn't go. Let me stay here 
with Madame and — my — memories ! 

Nancy. But you are not well. The Springs would 
do you a world of good and Cousin Clara is just dying 
to have us come. 

56 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 57 

Azalea. Suppose we make arrangements for you to 
go. I do not want to be selfish, little sister. I fear my 
devotion to Beverly's memory has caused me to neglect 
you. I'll write to Cousin Clara this evening. 

Nancy. I won't go without you. 

Azalea. The atmosphere at the Springs would stifle 
me. 

Nancy. But vou will undermine vour health here, 
'Zalie. 

Azalea. I have no interest in life now that Beverly 
has gone. 

Nancy. But don't you ever expect to go away again? 
Don't you ever expect to mingle with society any more 
at all ? 

Azalea. No, Nancy, I do not. 

Nancy. A change of scene would do you good. You 
are young, 'Zalie. Only twenty-three. Maybe you'll 
meet some one else you can learn to care for. 

Azalea. Such a supposition is an insult. It was my 
own folly that sent Beverly away to California — away 
to death. The only reparation I can make is a lifelong 
devotion to his memory. To speak to me of another 
when you see me plunged in grief is to accuse me of being 
a creature without a heart, without memory, without 
faith. 

Nancy (crosses to her). Azalea! 

(Puts her arms around her.) 

Azalea. There, Nancy, I didn't mean to be unkind, 
but you are young, you cannot understand. 

Nancy. I think I do understand, but it breaks my 
heart to see you thus, you who used to be so gay and 
care-free. 

Azalea. I'll never be gay and care-free again. My 
heart is buried in his grave out there in California. 

(Nancy g'wes a long sigh and crosses to her seat at l.) 

Enter Shad fro)ii rear l. 

Shad. Excuse me, but Miss Sallie Sellers is comin' 
up de garden walk. 



58 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Nancy. Miss Sallie? (Rises joyfully.) Oh, I'm so 
glad. She just got back from New Orleans. 

[Exit Shad upstairs at rear R. 

Azalea. It's been over a year since we've seen her. 

Nancy. I'll run and meet her. I want to hear all 
about Phoebe's husband. Will you come? {At c. e.) 

Azalea. Not just now, dear. I'll tell Madame that 
Miss Sallie is here. 

Nancy. I do hope she brought me a piece of the 
wedding cake. [Exit rear l. 

{Pause. Azalea looks at the picture. Enter Judge 
from R. ) 

Judge {with several roses). I've just come from the 
rose garden by the lily pond. I brought you these. 

{Hands her roses.) 

Azalea. Thank you. I love these roses. Beverly and 
I planted the garden four years ago. Do you remember? 

Judge. Yes, dear, I remember. 

Azalea. And now the roses are so bright and gay, 
and Beverly {Weeps.) 

Judge. There, honey, don't give way like this. For 
your own sake, for my sister's sake, you must be calm. 
If we cannot contrive to wean her from her grief it will 
destroy her. 

Azalea. What can we do? 

Judge. In the first place you must leave ofif being sad ; 
in the next, you must force her to interest herself in 
something. Try and smile — invent something agreeable 
to think about and talk about. 

Azalea. Did you know that Miss Sallie had returned 
from New Orleans? 

Judge. Miss Sallie? Bless my soul ! Back here? 

Azalea. She's in the garden now with Nancy. 

Judge. Well, this is a surprise. 

Azalea. I must tell Madame. Do. you think she is 
well enough to see her? 

Judge. I think so. Miss Sallie is like a tonic; if any 
one on earth can do my sister any good it is Miss Sallie. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 59 

Enter Madame and Mam' Dicey from r. 

Madame. 'Zalie, are you there ? 
Azalea. Yes, Madame. {Goes to her.) 
Madame. I am so helpless. 

{Siis at R., assisted by Azalea.) 

Judge (at l.). You seem to be a little better this morn- 
ing, sister. I think I see a little color in your face. 

(Mam' Dicey exits at r.) 

Madame. Better? No, I cannot delude myself; there 
is no change. 

Judge. We had quite a gale last night. I had to get 
up and shut the casement. 

Madame. There was a time when every wind made 
me tremble, vaguely thinking of my boy out there in the 
mountains. Now tempest and sunshine are alike to me — 
both indifferent. 

Judge. Did you know that Miss Sallie has returned? 

Madame. Sallie returned? 

Azalea. And she's here, out in the garden with 
Nancy. Are you strong enough to see her, Madame ? 

Madame (rises). A little walk might help me. I am 
glad that Sallie has come back home. (Moves to c. e. 
with Azalea.) My son Beverly was always so fond of 
Sallie. Shall we go into the garden ? 

Azalea (looking off rear l.). They are down by the 
grove. 

Madame. I am so feeble. I am such a care to you, 
'Zalie. [Exits at rear l. with Azalea. 

Judge (crosses to table and picks up the daguerreo- 
type; pause). Poor Beverly, poor young lad to die out 
there alone, never knowing that little 'Zalie really loved 
him. 

Enter Mary Rose from rear l. 

Mary. Morning, Judge. 
Judge (kisses her hand). Miss Mary Rose! 
Mary. I slipped away. I have something very im- 
portant to tell you. 



6o OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

{He leads her to a seal at r., bows her into it and sits 
at R.) 

Judge. I am at your service. 

Mary. First I want some advice. 

Judge. Legal advice? 

Mary. I reckon you might call it that. It's about a 
lady and a man. Of course, it's purely fictitious. 

Judge. Of course. 

Mary. He loves her, really, truly loves her and has 
loved her for a long time. 

Judge. Does she know it ? 

Mary. Of course she does. And she loves him. 

Judge. Does he know it? 

Mary. That's what I don't know. I want your ad- 
vice. Does he ? 

Judge. We must go a little more into particulars, my 
dear. 

Mary. Well, he asked her to marry him. 

Judge. So far, so good. 

Mary. That's how come she knows he loves her. 

Judge. I see. A proposes to B. Go on. 

Mary. And B refused A. 

Judge. Then B's affections were elsewhere engaged? 

Mary. Oh, no. B loves A just as much as A loves B. 

Judge. Then accept him at once, get your license and 
hie away to church, and God bless you, my children. 

Mary. You don't understand at all. I'm neither A 
nor B. 

Judge (rubbing his chin). I see. 

Mary. Now what must B do to make A propose 
again ? 

Judge. Has A proposed more than once ? 

Mary. I — I think he has. Yes, I'm sure he has. 

Judge. And B therefore must have refused him more 
than once. 

Mary. Yes, she did, but she's heart-broken about it 
now. 

Judge. How do you know the state of B's heart? 

Mary. She has his daguerreotype (pathetically) and 
she wears it next her heart. Last night she didn't know I 



I 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 6 1 

saw her but she kissed it and then she cried herself to 
sleep. 

Judge. Why doesn't B let A know that she cares for 
him ? 

Mary. She's too proud. The last time he proposed 
he said he'd never propose again, and he won't. So A is 
breaking his heart for B and B is breaking her heart for 
A, and — and it's perfectly dreadful for both of them. 
The whole affair is a tragedy. A must propose to B 
again. 

Judge. Not necessarily. 

Mary. Why not ? 

Judge. B might propose to A. 

Mary. B ! Why, B is a lady ! 

Judge. That seems to be the only way out of the 
tangle. If A has given his word never to propose again, 
and if there is to be a proposal made, naturally it follows 
that the proposal must come from B. 

Mary. You don't know what you are saying. 

Judge. Miss Mary Rose, are you sure that Miss Sal — 
I mean B — really cares for A? 

Mary (rises). Oh, Judge, now you're making it per- 
sonal. 

Judge. Not at all. I simply referred to A and B. 

Mary. Then A will not propose again ? 

Judge. How can he? 

Mary. He could if he really cared for B. 

Judge. He does really care, but he has given his word 
not to propose again. 

Mary. Then there is no way out of it. 

Judge. The decision of the court has been given. 

Mary. But you know she never will propose to you. 
Such a thing wouldn't be genteel. 

Enter Azalea and Madame from rear l., foUozved by 
Nancy and Sallie. 

Madame. I think I will rest a while, if you will ex- 
cuse me, Sallie. 

Sallie. Certainly, Aladame. 

Madame. I'm — I'm not very strong, but I feel that 



62 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

your home-coming has done me good. Come often, dear. 
1 am a lonely old woman with little to live for except my 
friends. You are always welcome. 

[Exits rear r. luith Azalea. 

Judge (meets Sallie at c. e.). Welcome home, Miss 
Sallie. 

Mary. Nancy! (Motions to her.) 

Nancy (crossing from rear l. down r. to Mary). 
Yes? 

Mary. You promised to show me the new Godey's. 

Nancy. It's in there. (Points to r.) I'll get it. 

Mary. Wait a minute. I'll go with you. (Points to 
Judge.) I don't reckon they'll miss us. 

Nancy (looks at Sallie and Judge who are talking in 
pantomime) . No, we surely won't be missed. 

(Nancy and Mary lock arms and exeunt at r.) 

Judge. Miss Sallie 

Sallie (takes his arm as they come down r. ). Yes, 
Ira? 

Judge (seats her at r.). I never saw you looking more 
charming. 

Sallie. Thank you, sir. 

Judge (seated dozvn r.). I suppose you had a pleasant 
visit with Phoebe in New^ Orleans. 

Sallie. Charming. 

Judge. I hear that the New Orleans gentlemen are 
very gallant. 

Sallie. Adorably so. 

Judge. And you have been gone a year. 

Sallie. There's no place like home. I reckon I was 
homesick for old Virginia, the old plantation and — old 
friends. 

Judge. And little Phoebe is married? Well, well, 
how time flies. 

Sallie. It makes me feel like a very, very old lady to 
see Phoebe settled down. 

Judge. Nonsense, you are just in the bloom of woman- 
hood. 

Sallie. Judge, I — I want to consult with you. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 63 

Judge. Professionally ? 

Sallie. I think so. 

Judge. Is it about A and B? 

Sallie. I don't know what you mean by A and B. 

Judge. Of course not. Those are simply legal terms. 

Sallie. Do you remember the night that Raoul Chau- 
det went away ? 

Judge. Three years ago? I can never forget it. 

Sallie. You asked me a question that night. 

Judge. Did I? What was it? 

Sallie. Have you so soon forgotten ? 

Judge. Well, the party of the first part admits asking 
a question. Proceed. 

Sallie. And the party of the second part was to give 
her answer. 

Judge. Answer to the aforesaid question. But if I 
recollect correctly the party of the second part never 
gave the desired answer to the question of the party of the 
first part. That was three years ago and the question 
has been thrown out of court. 

Sallie (rises indignantly). Thrown out of court? 
Well, I never ! 

Judge. The party of the first part apologizes. Please 
sit down. 

Sallie. I'll not sit down. (Sits down.) That is, 
unless I want to. 

Judge. Now proceed, party of the second part. 

Sallie (baslifiiUy) . Well, if the party of the first 
part would propound the question again the party of the 
second part is ready to answer it. 

Judge. But you seem to forget that the party of the 
first part is in honor bound not to propound the question 
again. 

Sallie. Oh, indeed ! Then you don't care to hear my 
answer? (Crosses to c.) 

Judge. I do. Miss Sallie, I've waited three years for 
the answer. Are you prepared to give it to me ? . 

(Follows her.) 
Sallie. Are you prepared to repeat the question? 



64 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Judge. Would you have me break my word ? 

Sallie. Better for you to break your word than for 
me to break my heart. 

Judge. Sallie, you mean — that the answer is " yes." 

Sallie. Haven't we waited long enough? 

Judge {puts his arms around her). I — I — yes, Sallie, 
we have. 

Sallie {crying on his breast). And I've b-b-been so 
m-m-miserable. For three long years. 

Judge {comforting her). There, there, Miss Sallie, 
every cloud has its silver lining. 

Enter Mary and Nancy from r. 

Mary. Why, Cousin Sallie! 
Nancy. Why, Judge ! 
Both. Bless you, my children, bless you ! 
Judge. Run away, little girls, run away. 
Sallie. Come, girls, let's go up-stairs. I want 
Madame and 'Zalie to know. 

{Ladies cross to rear r.) 

Mary. A and B have evidently reached an agreement, 
Judge. 

Judge {down l.). ^An agreement? Yes, honey, I 
reckon you might call it a permanent partnership. 
{Ladies laugh and exeunt at rear r.) After all these 
years. If Beverly could only be here to witness this 
event. The poor lad was always very fond of Miss Sallie. 
{Crosses to table and picks up the daguerreotype.) And 
here I'm alive and happy and he's buried out there in the 
treacherous sands of California. Somehow I can't get 
him out of my mind to-day. {Enter Beverly from rear 
l. He enters slowly and stands at c. e. looking at the 
Judge, who does not see him.) In my new-found happi- 
ness I sympathize with his mental state that made him 
run away when he thought that 'Zalie cared for some 
one else. Somehow I can't feel that he is dead. I seem 
to be expecting to hear his old-time tones as he said, 
" Greeting, uncle, how goes the day? " 

Beverly. Greeting, uncle, how goes the day? 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 65 

Judge {motionless tmth terror). Oh! 

Beverly {comes down to him). Don't you know me? 
It is I, Beverly ! 

Judge {staggers and is supported by Beverly). Bev- 
erly, alive ! 

Beverly. Alive and quite recovered from a long ill- 
ness. 

Judge {clasping him in his arms). Thank God, thank 
God! 

Beverly. You didn't receive my letter. 

Judge. No, nothing. We thought you were dead. 

Beverly. My mother? 

Judge. She is not well. But we need no longer fear 
for her safety. It was grief that was killing her and 
now joy will cure her. But how shall we break the news? 
The doctor says that any strong excitement would be too 
much for her, and the result would be fatal. 

Beverly. How shall we break the news ? 

Judge. Azalea will help us. 

Beverly. Azalea ? She is still here then. 

Judge. Of course; she has been a faithful, loving 
daughter to your mother. Beverly, she loves you. 

Beverly. Loves me? 

Judge. She worships your memory. 

Beverly. She has never heard from Chaudet ? 

Judge. Never. It is reported that he was killed a 
year ago in a drunken brawl in Quebec. Listen ! 

Ben^rly. What is it? 

Judge. Your mother's step on the stairs, her linger- 
ing step, heavy with grief. She has stopped! Perhaps 
she isn't, yes, she is coming down. 

(Madame appears at rear R., coming down the stairs.) 

Madame. Brother. 

Judge. Yes, Alice, I am here. 

(Meets her at c. E.) 

Madame. I want to congratulate you. You and 
Sallie have made me very happy. 

(Beverly kisses her dress.) 



66 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Judge. I thank you. 

Madame. How pleased Beverly would have been ; he 
•was always devoted to both of you. Oh, brother, my 
son's death is more than I can bear. It's more than I 
can bear. 

Judge (leads her to r.). You mustn't give way like 
this. Be brave, Alice, be brave. 

Madame. Take me to my room. I — I feel so weak. 
The excitement 

(Judge leads her to r. Enter Mam' Dicey at r.) 

Dicey (starts at seeing Beverly). Good Lawd! 

(Judge signals to her.) 

Madame. Dicey, what is it? 

Dicey. Nuffin, Madame, nuffin at all. I jes' stubbed 
my toe, dat's all. 

Judge. Take my sister to her room. 

Madame. I think I will rest a little while. I'm so 
tired. (Dicey leads her off at r.) 

Beverly. Oh, how pale and feeble she is — how 
changed. 

Judge. We're all changed. 

Beverly. And to think I may not comfort her. 

Judge. We must lead up to it gradually. 

Beverly. She spoke of you and Miss Sallie; you 
haven't come to an agreement with her at last, have you ? 

Judge. This very morning. Beverly, I'm the happiest 
man in the Old Dominion. 

Beverly (wringing the Judge's hand). And I con- 
gratulate you, sir, from the bottom of my heart. 

Nancy (off stage at rear r.). Judge! 

Beverly. It's Nancy. 

Judge. Quick, hide somewhere. You mustn't frighten 
the life out of little Nancy. 

Beverly. Where ? 

Judge. There by the piano. (Beverly complies.) 

(Nancy appears at rear r.) 
Nancy. Judge, we've got it all arranged. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 67 

Judge. What ? 

Nancy. Your wedding. 

Judge. My wedding? 

Nancy. La, you act just as if we hadn't anything to 
say in the matter. Why, Mary Rose and I brought it 
about. 

Judge. Nancy, I have some news for you. It's a 
surprise. 

Nancy. You've given us one surprise to-day. What's 

this one ? Is it good or bad ? 

(Sally and Mary Rose appear at c. e. from rear r.) 

Mary (to Judge). I'm glad our Httle talk about A and 
B came to such a denouement. 

Judge. And so am I. 

Nancy. The Judge was just going to tell me some 
good news. That is, I hope it is good. 

Judge (near Sallie at c). It could be nothing else on 
this day. 

Mary (down l.). What is it? Are we all to share it? 

Judge. Of course. 

Nancy (dozvn l.). Is it real good? 

Judge. The best in the world. 

Nancy. Not about Beverly? 

Judge. You burn, you burn. 

Sallie. Have you heard anything? 

Judge. Closer and closer. 

Mary. He isn't dead? 

Nancy (rushes to Judge). Beverly is alive? Oh, 
Judge, tell me, tell me ! 

Judge. How did you know ? 

Nancy. I dreamed it. 

Sallie. You've heard from him — in California. 

Judge. Closer than that. 

Mary. In Virginia? 

Judge. Closer than that. 

Nancy. Here? He's here! Beverly's come homo ! 

Beverly. Here ! (Nancy runs to him and kisses him.) 

Nancy. Beverly ! 

Mary. Then you aren't dead, are you? 



68 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

{Shakes hands with him.) 

Beverly. Not yet, 

Sallie. Oh, Beverly, we are so glad — we are so 
glad. (Embraces him.) 

Nancy (down l.). But we thought you had been 
murdered by Mexican robbers. 

Judge {down r.). Yes, we got a letter from the consul. 

Mary {at l. c. ). But you were saved, weren't you? 

Sallie. Have you seen your mother ? 

Beverly. Yes, but she did not know I was in the 
room. 

Sallie. In another month I doubt if you would have 
found her alive. 

Nancy. And 'Zalie too, now she'll be happy once 
more. 

Judge. But, Beverly, didn't the Mexican bandits cap- 
ture you after all? 

Beverly. Yes, uncle, they did. They found nothing 
of value on me and left me alone in the hills, desperately 
wounded. I was saved by a miracle. 

Others. A miracle ? 

Beverly. I was found by an old Indian woman who 
took me to her hut and tended me as well as she knew 
how. Her only notion of medical treatment was howling 
magic words over me. 

Judge. Well, what more do our doctors do? They 
talk Latin and then trust to nature, after all. 

Beverly {at c). Exactly. But she cared for me in 
her own way and after ten months I found myself in 
San Francisco. 

Judge. But the letter from the consul said they found 
your clothes and note-book containing your name and 
address. 

Beverly. That is true. It appears that one of the 
Mexicans who robbed me was killed and his mangled 
body was found. Some of my belongings were on him 
and the consul concluded that I had been murdered. 

Judge. Oh, then we've been doing a pretty thing 
after all. 

Nancy. A pretty thing? 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 69 

Beverly. What thing? 

Judge. All this time we've been in mourning for the 
thief who nearly killed you. 

Ladies {laughing). So we have. 

Nancy. But we shouldn't laugh yet, not while Ma- 
dame and Azalea are in despair. 

Sallie. True, we mustn't forget them. But come, 
Mary Rose, we must go. 

Mary. You and the Judge walk down to the gate. 
I'll follow you. 

Judge. Yes, Sallie, there are several little things I 
want to say to you. 

Sallie. Well, I should think so. 

[They exeunt at rear l. 

Beverly. Dear old Uncle Ira, how happy he is ! 

Mary. Seems like everybody is happy now, Beverly. 

Beverly. Where's Phoebe? 

Mary. La, didn't you know ? She's married and liv- 
ing in New Orleans. 

Beverly. And all in three years' time. I left you 
three little girls and find you two grown up young ladies 
and Phoebe married. 

Nancy. Of course. Three years is an awful long 
time. 

Mary. I'll run along now. Can't you all come over 
to dinner to-morrow night? 

Beverly. I'm afraid we can't leave my mother. 

Mary. Then we'll all come over here. I reckon we've 
got to have some kind of an announcement party for the 
Judge and Cousin Sallie. Good-bye. 

(Runs out at rear l.) 

Beverly. Where is Azalea? 

Nancy. Up-stairs. Shall I run up and tell her you're 
here? 

Beverly. If you will. 

Nancy {hy table.) La, Mary Rose has left her sew- 
ing bag. She's always forgetting something. 

Beverly. I'll take it to her. 

{Takes hag and exits at rear l.) 



70 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

Nancy. If I could only think of some way to break 
the news to Madame. 

Enter Azalea from rear R., down stairs. 

Azalea. Where is Madame? 

Nancy. In her room, I think. Oh, 'Zalie ! 

Azalea. What is it? 

Nancy. You'll never guess. 

Azalea. What is it? 

Nancy. Go out in the garden and see. Down by the 
lily pond. 

Azalea. Don't keep me in suspense. Has there been 
any news of Beverly? 

Nancy. Yes, honey. Good news. The best in the 
world. 

Azalea. Nancy, Nancy, he is alive ! 

Nancy. Out in the garden by the lily pond. 

Azalea. Oh ! (Runs out at rear l.) 

(Madame appears at r.) 

Madame. Azalea ? 

Nancy. She isn't here. 

Madame. I can't understand what possesses Mam' 
Dicey. She's as excited as a lark. 

Nancy (seats her at r.). Are you feeling any better, 
Madame ? 

Madame. I fear not. My poor heart! This can't 
last much longer. I feel life ebbing like a tide. 

Nancy. Oh, dear! 

Madame. How strange your voice sounds, Nancy. I 
caught the same note from Mam' Dicey, a mixture of 
pleasure and anxiety. 

Nancy. That's it, pleasure and anxiety. 

Madame. Find Azalea for me. I — I'm not very well. 

Nancy. Yes, Madame. She's in the garden. 

[Exits at rear l. 

Enter Shad from r. 

Madame. Who is it? 

Shad. Dess me, Madame, dess only Shad. 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 



71 



Madame. Where are you going? 

Shad. I'm lookin' for some one, dat's all. Dess 
lookin' for somebody. Maybe dey's in the garden. 
'Souse me, Madame. [Exits rear l. 

Madame. The same note of suppressed excitement in 
Shad's voice. What can it mean? What can it mean? 
Nancy, too, seemed strangely moved. Perhaps the poor 
child is lonely here. I must send her away, Azalea too. 
I have no right to monopolize their affections; they are 
young and must listen to consolation. There is no tie 
to bind 'Zalie here; it is with me alone that grief must 
be eternal. 

Enter Azalea from rear l. She comes down to Madame. 

Azalea. Madame ! 

Madame. 'Zalie ! There is a note of excitement in 
your voice, too. What does it mean ? 

Azalea. It is a story we have been reading. The 
story of a man supposed to be dead 

Madame. Supposed to be ? 

Azalea. He was shipwrecked and lost on a desert 
island ; months passed before he was rescued. And do 
you know, Madame, it's a foolish fancy, of course, — but 
I can't help indulging in hope. 

Madame (mournfully). Hope! For us? 

(Shakes head.) 

Azalea. Imagine the delight if suddenly we were to 
hear 

Madame. My dear one, hope is not for us. We have 
had proofs, indisputable proofs, of the terrible reality. 
My poor boy ! 

Azalea. Proofs are sometimes too readily accepted. 
It is true that the mutilated body of a man was found 

Madame. With Beverly's note-book and other belong- 
ings. Our notice was official; it came from the consul 
in Mexico. 

Azalea. But consuls have been deceived before now, 
haven't they? 

Madame. Hush, hush ! — not another word — it would 



72 OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 

kill me. Do not raise such cruel hopes, even for a 
moment — they only increase my anguish. 

Enter Judge from rear l. 

Judge {comes down c). Sister! 

Madame. Ira ! What is it ? Have you heard some- 
thing? You all seem so excited. Speak to me; do not 
keep me in suspense. 

Judge. It may only be a rumor after all, and perhaps 
a false one. If you would be quite calm 

Madame. Speak, speak ! 

Judge. I said that if you would be quite calm, I 
would tell you all. 

Madame. There — look — look — you see how calm I 
am. 

Judge. Here it is then. A traveller landed in the 
city this morning, and this traveller happened to fall in 
with another young traveller on his travels, and this 
young traveller's name was Bonfoey. But, said the first 
traveller, young Bonfoey was killed by the Mexican rob- 
bers ! Impossible, said the young traveller, my death has 
been greatly exaggerated. 

Madame {starts up). You mean — you — mean that 
my boy is alive? 

Judge. Now, now, now I Calm and patience, remem- 
ber. I only said that he claimed to be alive. 

Madame. But where is he? Where is he? Tell me 
all. I am stronger than you think. Ira, where is my 
boy? 

Judge {supports her), I am expecting him here. 

Madame. You cannot conceal it from me. There's 
joy radiating from your very presence. Azalea, you have 
seen him? 

Azalea. No, no. Be calm, be calm ! 

Madame. You are deceiving me. Deceiving me be- 
cause I am blind. You have seen my boy. 

Azalea. I have, and you shall see him soon, perhaps 
to-morrow. 

Madame {rushes to c. e.). To-morrow, no I At once! 
At once ! 



OLD DAYS IN DIXIE 73 

Enter Beverly frovi rear l. 

Judge. Be calm; remember your heart. {Down L.) 

Madame {up c). I will listen to nothing but his voice! 
Where is he? Beverly, Beverly, my boy, where are you? 

Beverly {embraces her). Mother! 

Madame. My boy! {Pause.) Oh, God, I thank 
Thee, I thank Thee ! The night has passed and joy 
Cometh in the morning. Azalea, our Beverly's come 
home again. 

Beverly. Yes, mother, home to those I love, home 
forever. 

CURTAIN 



KINGDOM COMING 

Words and Music by Henry C. Work 





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OVER HERE 

A Drama of American Patriotism in Three Acts 
By Walter Ben Hate 
Seven male and six female cliaracters. Two easy scenes, a village 
square and a plain room ; may be played on any stage or platform. A 
play designed to instil in the minds and liearts of the actors and the au- 
dience a deeper love for their country and a more thorough understanding 
of America's motives in entering a war to " make the world safe for de- 
mocracy." While several very strong emotional roles are introduced, the 
play, with careful rehearsing, may be made a big success even in the 
hands of the most inexperienced amateurs. Dan Monihan, jail-bird, 
water-rat, enemy of society, becomes the tool of certain German spies and 
brings an important package to Eckert, a wealthy miller at River Land- 
ing, Mo. The entrance of our country into the world struggle, the volun- 
teers leaving for the cantonments and the teachings of the patriotic Miss 
Em Finch tend to change the character of Dan Monihan from a Ger- 
man spy to an American lad willing to die for his country. In an in- 
tensely dramatic scene in the third act Dan, taunted with being a traitor 
and a man witliout a country, turns on Eckert, and, in a frenzy of pa- 
triotic hysteria, tries to kill tlie arch-spy. Tiie play has certain literary 
qualities that will appeal to all teachers, and its patriotism will electrify 
its audiences and keep them tense with emotion from the rise to the fall 
of the curtain. Royalty, $\0 for each performance. 
Price, J5 cents 

CHARACTERS 

Dan Monihan. Corporal Shannon. 

]. B. Wheedon. Miss Em Finch. 

[UDGE Gary. M iss Lornie Davis, the milliner. 

Comrade Ferguson, a veteran Lizzie. 

of the Civil War. Mrs. Cronin. 

Tommy Cronin. Celia Baker, 

Frederick J. Eckert. A Child. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act L — The village square at River Landing, Mo. The day 
they heard the news. 

Act 1 1 . — Same scene as Act L The day the boys marched away. 

Act in. — Sitting-room in Eckert's house. The night the spy 
came home. 

STRONG MEDICINE 

A Comedy in Two Acts 
By Ernest L. Noon 
Three male, three female characters. Costumes modern ; scene, an in- 
terior. Plays an hour and a quarter. Royalty for amateurs, ^5.00 for 
each performance. If a young surgeon should propose to you in his 
operating apron just after an operation, you would probably refuse him 
anyhow just as Kitty Davidson did Dr. Gordon. Perhaps the method 
you chose to repair the blunder would work better than Davidson's did, 
but it might not be as funny. A very novel and amusing piece strongly 
recommended. All the parts evenly good. 
Price, 3J cents 



THE HURDY-HURDY GIRL 

A Comedy in Three Acts 

By Gladys Ruth Bridgham 
Nine males, nine females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, one interior 
and one exterior. Plays two hours. A light, breezy piece of the musical 
comedy kind, introducing music and dancing or not, as may be desired. 
CarloUa Vernon is persuailed to disguise herself at a garden party as a 
" Hurtly-Gurdy Girl " and gets mixed up with the daughter of a hurdy- 
gurdy man, Antonio, with whom the son of the host has become involved 
in college. The pursuit of damaging letters resulting from this cor- 
respondence and Antonio's private speculations with the host's personal 
property provide an amusing tangle. A bright, sparkling, pretty and 
pictures(]ue play, giving uniformly good parts to an equal number of boys 
and girls of the high-school and college age. Can be recommended. 
Price, J5 cents 

CHARACTERS 

{^As presented by the Senior Class of the Belfast, Maine, 
High School, in February, igi8.) 
Simon Lugg.\te. 
Theodore Luggate, his son. 
Marion Luggate, his daughter. 
Clarissa Luggate, his sister. 
Carlotta Vernon, his niece. 
Susie, his maid. 

Antonio Columbus, the Hurdy-Gurdy Man. 
Jim Stearnes 



Algernon Clancy 
Jack Grover 
Billy Mason 
Tom Murry 
Aristotle Lutzon 
Mary Dayton 
Helen Dayton 
Dolly Stearnes 
JosiE Hopkins 
Maisie Deane 



Theodore' s college 
chums 



The Bachelor 
Girls 



FINDING THE MAYFLOWERS 

A Puritan Play for Children in One Act 
By Blanche Proctor Fisher 
One male, eight females. Costumes of the period ; seen iry, an in- 
terior. Plays twenty-five minutes. Dame Hopkins promises a sixpence 
to the girl who shall first hand her a bunch of mayfiowers, tke existence 
of which in the new land to which the pilgrims have con » is merely 
guessed. All the sisters save Faith Allerton disobey their mo.her and go 
in search of the new flower, but to her Wolomona, an Indian girl, brings 
the coveted posies and she wins the prize. A pretty play teaching a 
valuable lesson in a pretty way. Strongly recommended. 
Price, 25 cents 



AARON SLICK FROM PUNKIN CRICK 

A Clean Rural Comedy in Three Acts 
By Lieut, Bcale Connack 
Three male, four female characters. Scenery, two simple interior!, or 
may be dispensed with altogether. Costumes, niodern. Plays two hours. 
A play written specially for small stages and so fully ilescribcd that it may 
be given anywhere by amateurs of very limited ability. A comedy in 
which the old farmer gets ahead of the city " slickers." Dramatic scenes 
with plenty of funny action and lines interspersed. Characters : old 
farmer, speculator, breezy young man, middle-aged widow, city girl, tom- 
boy and cabaret singer. Not a suggestive line or action in the whole 
play. Written for the Straftord, Mo.. High School Class of '19, Strongly 
recommended, -/^^""'i J5 ce7its 

WHO'S WHO 
Aaron Slick, not as green as he looks. 
Mr. Wilbur Merriuew, a crooked speculator. 
Clarence Green, a mysterious young man. 
Mrs. Rosy Berry, an Oklahoma widow. 
Gladys May Merridew, a sweet young thing. 
The Girl in Red. 
Little Sis Riggs, a regular tomboy. 
Hotel Guests. 

THE REV. PETER BRICE, BACHELOR 
A Play in One Act 
By Beulah King 
Seven women. Scene, an interior; costumes, modern. Plays half an 
hour. The Rev. Peter Brice rescues from the slippery sidewalks of his 
town five of its most prominent old maids in succession upon a certain 
winter's day and implants in their hearts the most eager hopes of matri- 
monial results, but, [alas ! he ends by marrying the pretty widow, Mrs. 
Polly Prince, A whimsical bit of comedy easy to do and providing a 
number of good comedy parts of equal value and opportunity. Strongly 
recommended. Price, ^^ cents 

THE SLACKER 

A Patriotic Play in One Act 
By Jewell Bothwell Tull 
Two male, seven female characters. Scene, an interior ; costumes, 
modern and military. Plays forty minutes. The hero has not enlisted 
because he deems it his widowed mother's wish and his own duty not to 
do so. He tries on the uniform of a friend " just to be in it once," and 
being discovered, finds that both his mother and his fiancee have been 
miserable under the charge that he is a " slacker " and are rejoiced to 
have him make good. Picturesque, patriotic, dramatic. Strongly recom- 
mended. 

Price, 2$ cmts 



THE AIR-SPY 

A War Play in Three Acts 
By Mansfield Scott 
Twelve males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, a single in- 
terior. Plays an hour and a half. Royalty, ;?io.oo for first, ^(5.00 for 
subsequent performances by same cast; free for school performance. In- 
spector Steele, of the Secret Service, sets his wits against those of German 
emissaries in their plot against Dr. Treadwell's air ship, a valuable war 
invention, and baffles them after an exciting pursuit. An easy thriller, 
full of patriotic interest. Easy to get up and very effective. Strongly 
recommended for school performance. Originally produced by The 
Newton (Mass.) High School. 

Price, 55 cents 

CHARACTERS 
Dr. Henry Treadwell, inventor of the Giant Air-ship, 
Victor Lawrence, his pretended friend — a German spy. 
Hauold Felton. of the United States Army. 
Cakleton Everton, a young Englishman. 
Karl Schoneman, of the Germati Secret Service. 
Franz Muller, his assistant. 
Arthur Merrill, also of the United States Army. 
Inspector Malcome Steele, of the United States Secret Service. 
Henry Gootner, a German agent. 
Francis Drury, one of Treadwell' s guests. 
Corporal Thayer. 
Private Freeman. 

Ruth Treadwell, Treadwell' s daughter. 
Muriel Lawrence, Lawrence's daughter. 
Mrs. Treadwell. 
Margaret Linden, a friend of Ruth' s. 

The Time. — America's second summer in the war. 
The Place. — A deserted mansion on a small island near East- 
port, Maine. 

SYNOPSIS 
Act I. The afternoon of June loth. 
Act II. The evening of September 21st. 

Act III. Scene i. The afternoon of the next day. About 1:30. 
Scene 2. An hour later. 

ART CLUBS ARE TRUMPS 

A Play in One Act 
By Mary Moncure Parker 
Twelve females. Costumes of 1890 with one exception ; scene, a single 
easy interior. Plays thirty ininules. Describes the trials of an ambitious 
woman who desired to form a club in the early days of clulj life for 
women about thirty years ago, before the days of telephones and auto- 
mobiles. A capital play for ladies' clubs or for older women m general. 
The costumes are quaint and tiie picture of life in the year of the Chicagu 
World's Fair ofiters an amusing contrast to the present. Recommended. 
price, 2^ cents 



r 



Plays for Junior iligh Schools 



1 



Sally Lunn 

Mr. Bob 

The Maa from Brandon 

A Box of A\onkeys 

A Rice Pudding 

Class Day 

Chums 

An Easy Mark 

Pa's New Housekeeper 

Not On the Program 

The Cool Collegians 

The Elopement of Ellen 

Tommy's Wife 

Johnny's New Suit 

Thirty Minutes for Refreshments 

West of Omaha 

The Flying Wedge ^ 

My Brother's Keeper 

The Private Tutor 

Me an' Otis 

Up to Freddie 

My Cousin Timmy 

Aunt Abigail and the Boys 

Caught Out 

Constantine Pueblo Jones 

The Cricket On the Hearth 

The Deacon's Second Wife 

Five Feet of Love 

The Hurdy Gurdy Girl 

Camp Fidelity Girls 

Carroty Nell 

A Case for Sherlock Holmes 

The Clancey Kids 

The Happy Day 

1 Grant You Three Wishes 

Just a Little Mistake 

The Laud of Night 

Local and Long Distance 

The Original Two Bits 

An Outsider 

Oysters 

A Pan of Fudge 

A Peck of Trouble 

A Precious Pickle 

The First National Boot 

His Father's Son 

The Turn In the Road 

A Half Back's Interference 

The Revolving Wedge 

A\ose 

BAKER, Hamilton Place, Boston, Mass* 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



-■^ Ti^- -^^ -n^- lAf T<fa -lA -Jtc J^ -Jk -J^ 1^1^ -Jtr -Jk -Jtm -d 



Plays and Novell;ics That Have Been 



Males Females 



Camp Fidelity Qirls 




I ( 


2y, 


Anita's Tria! 




11 


2 


The Farmerette 




7 


2 


Behind the Sceaes 




12 


I>2 


The Camp Fire Girls 




15 


2 


A Case for Sherlocli Holmes 




10 


'I/'2 


The House in Laurel Lane 




6 


I>3 


Her First Assignment 




lO 


I 


1 Grant You Three Wishes 




14 


y2 


Joint Owners in Spain 




4 


% 


Marrying Money 




4 


% 


The Original Two Bits 




7 


'A 


The Over=Alls Club 




10 


A 


Leave it to Polly 




II 


^A 


The Rev. Peter Brice, Bachelor 




7 


% 


Mf 88 Fearless & Co. 




10 


2 


A Modern Cinderella 




16 


iV-. 


Theodore, Jr. 




7 


'% 


Rebecca's Triumph 




16 


2 


Aboard a Slow Train in Mizzoury 


8 


14 


2;^ 


Twelve Old Maids 




15 


I 


An Awkward Squad 


8 




% 


The Blow- Up of Algernon Blow 


8 




% 


The Boy Scouts 


20 




2 


A Close Shave 


6 




yi 


The First National Boot 


7 


2 


I 


A Half- Back's Interference 


lO 




Ya 


His Father's Son 


14 




'H 


The Man With the Nose 


8 




H 


On the Quiet 


12 




1/3 


The People's Money 


II 




iH 


A Regular Rah ! Rail ! Boy 


H 




^H 


A Regular Scream 


II 




^H 


Schmerecase in School 


9 




I 


The Scoutmaster 


lO 




2 


The Tramps' Convention 


17 




'K 


The Turn in the Road 


9 




i;^ 


Wanted^a Pitcher 


II 




^ 


What They Did for Jenkins 


14 




2 


Aunt Jerusha's Quilting Party 


4 


12 


IX 


The District School at Blueberry 








Corners 


12 


17 


I 


The Emigrants' Party 


24. 


10 


I 


Miss Prim's Kindergarten 


lO 


II 


'K 


A Pageant of History Any number 


2 


The Revel of the Year 




'• 


H 


Scenes in the Union Depot 


' 


" 


I 


Taking the Census in Bingvilie 


14 


8 


I, '4 


The Village Post=Office 


22 


20 


2 


O'Keefe^s Circuit 


12 


8 


1 ''2 



Ins. 



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BAKER, Hamilton Place, Boston, Mass. 



015 907 656 8 

Winners" ?^ 

> 



1811623 



